They All Lived Story 70: Snow Phoenix
by LadyWordsmith
Summary: Dec 1989-Jan 1991. When Alphonse's granddaughter gets caught in the middle of a Drachman civil war, what will Amestris be willing to do to rescue their civilians? Will they risk another war? Edward, Alphonse, and the family can't keep out of international drama when it threatens everything they love. After all, people can't come back from the dead. Or can they?
1. Chapter 1

**December 6th, 1989**

"Isn't it a bit early for winter holiday decorations?" Alphonse laughed as Edward finished tying off a garland of greenery along one of the several tiers of balcony railing in the center of the house.

Ed shrugged. "That's why I transmuted silk plants instead of using real evergreen," he pointed out. If he had used evergreen boughs this early, they would be dead and prickly by the time family actually arrived for the holidays. "At least I waited until after the fall holidays were all over, and it's already snowing outside, so no, I don't think it's too early to be decorating." Besides which, they would have guests on-and-off over the month , not just at the end of it. He looked back down the railing, periodically punctuated by gold or silver ribbons tied in creative bows that Elicia and Winry had made that morning. "I think everyone will love it."

"Well, I can't disagree with you there," Al nodded. "I just hope this early snow doesn't mean we're in for an extra hard winter."

"If it does, we'll just have to hide in here and stay cozy." Ed shrugged. He also hoped for gentle winters, if only because he hated it when his ports ached enough to make him nauseated. "I hope the kids like the new garden lights."

"Those are a stroke of brilliance," Al admitted.

Ed followed his brother back downstairs, feeling more than a little smug about his ingenius little idea for lighting the gardens and the swimming area, using little lights outside with batteries. Not just any batteries though; he had transmuted and rigged up little panels—with Winry and Aldon's engineering suggestions—that turned the sun's power into battery power. So the garden was full of little lights, hidden around in the plants and hanging in the trees, like large fireflies. In the snow, they looked almost mystical.  
He couldn't wait to show them to the family, but especially the great-grandkids. Even the Resembool crew had not been up to the house since he had installed all the lights, and he knew Urey and Reichart's offspring would love them. So would Lily and Randy's twins, and James and Krista's little Aithne.

Not that everyone would make it this year. Ian and Bonnie might, but they had projects to work on right up to the last minute at the studio. Most of Alphonse's family couldn't for a wide variety of reasons, including in several cases being out of the country entirely. Will and Ren were in Xing, and Gloria was going to get home barely in time for the holidays at all, as she was in Drachma with her boyfriend, meeting his father's family.

If that didn't sound like a lead-up to a proposal, Ed would drink an entire cow's worth of milk.

Charlie had enlisted just barely a month before, and there was no way he would be able to get time off to leave town on a trip before even finishing his basic training. So his whole family would be staying in Central, and Ed totally understood that, as much as he understood that Tore was staying in Central because Dare and Lorraine would be home for the holidays.

A still-hot pot of coffee awaited them in the kitchen, and Ed was happy to take the large, steaming mug Al offered him before pouring another for himself.

"So what's left to do?" Al asked curiously.

Ed looked contemplatively around the large open living area in the middle of the house. They wouldn't need a holiday tree until much closer to the actual holidays, but everything else seemed to be done and decorated, right down to brightly colored cat toys that sent the younger cats streaking all over the house with mad, catnip induced excitement. "I think that's everything," he said, as he heard the front door opening around the corner.

"Not quite everything," he heard Winry's voice reply.

"Oh? What am I missing?" Ed asked as he came around the corner and stopped dead.

Winry and Elicia stood in the entryway on the large mat laid out to catch mud and wet, holding the leashes of two large, fluffy, white dogs that looked nearly identical, save for one having a brown badger-marked ear, and the other dark-gray over both short, floppy ears. They were wagging their tails excitedly.

They were clearly not tiny babies, but they looked young and maybe eighty pounds. "And just who are these two?" Ed asked, though he knew at once that Winry had brought them home for him. His heart swelled with not just the love he felt for Winry for finding them, but for two the two eager and attentive young dogs.

"Well, you'll have to come up with good names for them," Winry said as she closed the door behind them with her foot, and let the brown-eared dog off the leash. "The farmer who was selling the pups just called them Bear and Sheep. They're eight months old, both boys, and he's retired and sold off his sheep, so he didn't need all the pups his dog had last spring and he hadn't had much luck selling them all off."

Terrible names. Ed didn't even ask which was which, though he could see having trouble homing that many large dogs. They were not known for having small litters either. "Well then, come here, fellas," he knelt down. "Let's get to know each other shall we?"

As soon as they were off the leashes it was nothing but noses, nuzzles, and snuffling noises. Ed pet both of them with firm, fur-ruffling affection, working out personalities and bonding. It didn't take long to figure out which was probably Bear, and which was probably Sheep. The brown-marked one was bigger and a little thicker than his brother, and particularly nosy and more direct. While the gray-marked was willing to be shoved out of the way and slightly less assertive. Still, they deserved names better in keeping with their personalities. "I wonder what the cats are going to think," he mused aloud.

"They're already staring," Al commented from outside his line of sight. Looking up, Ed noticed that the two kittens were up on top of the cat tree, staring and curious, while Al's older two were up on the first balcony, glowering…. And occasionally hissing.

The dogs did not seem to care. Ed supposed they were used to cats, coming from a farm. "Well we can't have you running around with those names," his mind circled back around, and it only took him a few seconds to link the dogs—personalities and all—to a pair of brothers whose own stories and life Ed had been drawn to in Europe. "I know, Jacob and Wilhelm."

"Perfect!" Al commented behind him, with a chuckle. "I assume Jacob would be the quieter one?"

"Of course." Ed ruffled the gray-marked pup's head. His brother, now Wilhelm, nudged Ed's hand jealously.

"Should I know these names?" Elicia asked, looking puzzled.

"A pair of brothers, writers, from Europe," Ed explained. "They wrote down folk tales. Fascinating stories. Al and I were reading everything we could get our hands on in those days that might get us information. Folk tales were some of the only stories we could find there with referencing to anything that could even be mistaken for alchemy. Of course, they always called it magic," he snorted. "But they traveled all over, and you know, some of their life was kind of familiar. I would have liked to have met them. Of course, they died well before we were born."

"And you want to name dogs after them."

"Would you rather they go around named after other animals?"

Winry was smiling knowingly. "Well I like them. They're dignified names. Don't you have a copy of their stories upstairs?"

Ed nodded. He did, in the original German. He also had a few of the stories he had translated into Amestrian, though he hadn't done anything with those yet. "I do. I used to tell them to the kids. Not in German of course."

"I thought so." Winry moved towards the kitchen and the coffee pot. "Hopefully these two will like them just as much."

Ed managed to hug both puppies at once before standing up and extricating himself from the wag pile. The next hug was for his wife. "Thank you."

Winry squeezed him back. "We stopped for eggs. I just couldn't get over their eyes, and then he noticed, and asked if I wanted them. Don't expect anything else for the holidays."

Ed chuckled, grateful as ever to have her in his life. "I wouldn't think of it."

 **December 9th, 1989**

While it was a little odd still to be visiting her son and his wife in what had been her childhood home, Alyse was quite happy to be able to do so, and to watch Charlie, Shelby, and their children, settling into their new life in Central. It had not taken long for Charlie to transfer to Central and enlist, and for them to move their belongings down. Not that their things came close to filling a house, but with most of her parents' furnishings here, it was hardly empty. So far, very few changes had been made, other than the rearranging of a few pieces of furniture, moving the children into the upstairs bedrooms, and some washable slip-covers for all the good furniture to protect it from small, sticky fingers.

There were a lot of those. They had just finished dinner, and Abigail was playing on the floor with an odd assortment of toys that included two dolls in frilly dresses, a train engine, a stuffed horse, and a fish-shaped pillow. When Alyse had asked what she was playing she had gotten a long, rambling explanation in toddler talk about the exciting adventure the two dolls were having—that would never have really worked in the dresses they had come in—and the horse, and how they were rescuing the fishy pillow prince by riding a magic train.

She would have found it strange, except that she remembered Gloria and Charlie creating similarly fanciful and cross-genre adventures with their toys, and she was sure she and Will had done the same. "It's hard to believe she's almost three already."

"It's hard to believe she's not older," Shelby replied with a self-depreciating smile as she sat at the other end of the couch, feeding Summer. Charlie and Cal had taken Cameron upstairs for a baby bath so that no one was overwhelmed with all three little ones at once. Alyse could hardly imagine how Shelby had managed at Briggs. "I've been trying to decide what we should do for her birthday, now that she's old enough to understand a party and presents."

"Well, I don't want to butt in, but if there's anything I can do to help, please let me know." Alyse would love to make her granddaughter's birthday amazing, but Shelby got that privilege first, as her mother.

"I appreciate it." Shelby shifted Summer to her shoulder. "It will probably be just family, since she isn't in pre-school yet, so it doesn't need to be anything too big, just fun. Though I found a mom group that meets up a couple of times a week so I'm thinking of trying that out, since I'm going to be at home with them for who knows how long, and it would give Abby more children to socialize with."

"I think that's a great idea." It would also give Shelby more adults to talk to who were around her age and at roughly the same point in their lives. Fellow parents who could sympathize and understand what she was going through raising children now. Alyse knew full well that, no matter how much stayed the same, there were differences in raising every generation. She could not imagine living the childhood her own parents and Aunt and Uncle had lived. It still floored her to think that her father and Uncle Edward had never even finished the equivalent of her middle school. They were two of the most intelligent, well-studied men she knew. They had educated themselves. Yet they had made sure their own children had stable lives and went through standard schooling. Alyse had done the same. "When do they meet?"

"Mondays and Thursdays right now for most activities. I know one of the girls, Clarissa, from school actually."

"That's great!"

Shelby nodded. "She graduated the year before us, and she's got a little boy just a couple of months older than Cam." There was a note in her voice that Alyse recognized as, not quite jealousy, but an awareness of the fact that most of their social group from high school did not have children, let alone three. "She's the one who told me about it, actually. I ran into her at the market on Saturday." She looked down at Summer as the baby burped. "There we go. I think maybe she'll sleep for a bit now."

"Perfect timing then," Charlie chimed as he came down the stairs, smiling. "Dad's almost got Cam unconscious. Abby honey, ready for story time?"

"Yeah!" Abigail stood up, quickly put the dolls and train in a toy bin, then turned to her father, still clutching the stuffed horse and the fish pillow. "Read The Happy Duck!"

"You bet." Charlie picked up his daughter.

Within the hour, all three children were asleep, and so was Shelby. When it became clear that Charlie was in just as much need of the brief nap he would get before babies woke up again, Alyse and Cal said their goodbyes and let themselves out.

"That was nice," Alyse commented on the drive home. "How was your conversation with Charlie?"

"Pretty good," Cal commented, eyes focused on the road ahead of them in the dark.

"Well, that's informative."

"Nothing traumatic," Cal elaborated, if only slightly. "Mostly we talked about work. He's surviving basic training. Sergeant Copper's pleased with his engineering work so far."

"But you know that from work."

"I know that from Copper's. It helps to hear it from both sides, make sure Charlie perceives the same things." Cal shrugged. "It's a good confidence boost, which he needs. He needs to learn to trust himself again."

"Can he?" Alyse asked, feeling a twinge of guilt. As his mother, she felt like she should always think the best about her children, but she was too much of a realist. Her son had done some crazy things in his life, but the most recent events went above and beyond that. Charlie still hadn't told her exactly what had happened, and neither had Shelby. Alyse hadn't pressed, but what was not said told her almost as much as what they could have said.

"Learn or be trusted?"

"I'll let you decide how you want to answer."

Cal pondered his answer. "I think his conscience will keep him on track, but I don't know how long it will take him to trust himself. He's terrified of screwing up again, at anything. But… being home is definitely better."

Alyse had seen that for herself. Certainly Shelby was happier here, closer to friends and family, even if her relationship with her father was still strained. It was easier, with two babies and a toddler, to have the help and not have to pay for it. Charlie seemed happier, but if he wasn't, he would never have told her. "It's a good start. I hope they can fix whatever is wrong."

She was surprised when Cal reached out and squeezed her hand without offering any words of explanation. So Alyse smiled, and squeezed back.

 **December 10th, 1989**

"…and that's a wrap!"

Ian watched his cast relax and listened to the chatter that broke out on the set as he called for a finish to the last scene they had to film for the last episode of the year. He felt satisfied and happy, watching the teenage actors he had been working with for over a season blossom and grow and improve, both as individuals and an ensemble. They were good kids, and directing them was rarely frustrating, and almost always a pleasure. It helped that they trusted him, but did not worship him. At least, if they did, they were very good at pretending otherwise.

"Anything else you need, Mr. Director?"

Ian shook himself out of his reverie amidst the cameramen removing the day's footage and the lighting technicians turning things off and putting away equipment, and turned around. "Just you."

Bonnie smiled. For once, her arms were not full of costumes which Ian hoped meant she was also done for the day, on time no less. "We're supposed to meet your Grandfather and Grandmother for dinner in only two hours. Is there anything else you need to do?"

"Not today." He had made certain of that. "Well, nothing that will take long," he amended. "But it will only take a few minutes to make sure everything's fine here, I promise."

"You had better not make me late."

"They're my grandparents!"

"And this dinner is to talk about the next outfits in my fashion line."

"I know." Ian chuckled. "You're the trend setter."

"Says the man who started a run on Xingese silk shirts just by buying a few during his last on-location shoot."

"Like you mind. Half of your new designs are completely outclassing me while taking advantage of my undeserved popularity."

"If we don't stop, we'll be late." Bonnie waved him off. "Go, do what you need to do. I'll meet you at the car."

"All right, all right." Ian turned and went to find the sound engineer he needed to talk to before they left for their much deserved break. By the time he got to the car, it was not only dark out, but growing briskly cold, as if the weather was threatening snow. Ian could see his breath fogging in the parking lot lights.  
Bonnie had already started the car and had it warm. "That was quick."

"I promise I wouldn't be long," he said as she slid over and let him take the wheel of his car. They both buckled.

"Last time you said that it took you almost forty-five minutes."

"Only because Nanette insisting on debating on which orange gel to use in the lights for the next day's shoot." He did not mind that the lighting designer was a perfectionist, but there were days…. He put the car in drive and carefully pulled out of the parking lot. "Did you call the stables?"

"I did," Bonnie nodded. "Everything's fine and she's in for the night. Even if it snows they've got plenty of extra feed, and the heaters will be on tonight." She shook her head. "I'm not sure I'll ever get used to heaters in a barn."

"Your horse is equine royalty," Ian teased. There were much more expensive horses, and a wide array from all walks of life, trained and kept and used by the film studios. It made sense to Ian that they paid to keep them particularly well cared for. Certainly he doubted the horses were complaining, and the heaters were only turned on when it got really cold. "Besides, would you begrudge her comfort?"

"In her condition you mean?" Bonnie eyed him sideways. "Of course not. Though this isn't her first foal, you know."

"Yes, you've told me," Ian nodded indulgently. "It's her fourth. Well it's my first!"

Bonnie elbowed him. "You're not that much of a stud."

If he hadn't been driving, he would have tickled her. Instead, he felt the tips of his ears go warm, though it might just be the heat thawing them out after the chill night air. "Is that a challenge?"

"No, not at all."

He believed that. They had talked about kids, of course, but not immediately. They had career goals they wanted to meet first, benchmarks that would make it easier to schedule a life that would allow raising children to be part of it, without screwing them up. "We'll see what happens in February."

"If you don't at least get a nomination for Golden Warrior, the Film committee has lost it," Bonnie assured him, one hand resting on his arm. "It's the best work you've ever done."

It was good to hear, and not idle flattery, not from Bonnie. She was always honestly blunt, and that hadn't changed. Ian felt the same way. He was proud of this project in a way he had never felt before. Not that he hadn't been proud of a lot of his work, but this felt like the peak of a long time coming, and if he was wrong, well, he wasn't sure what that meant for his career. He would keep acting though, no matter what. "Thanks. I just hope someone agrees with you."

That earned him a small scoffing sound. "With the revenue they've been getting off it from ticket sales and merchandizing? People are eating that film up! The whole thing is a masterpiece, your performance included, and you know it. So relax and enjoy yourself. Worry about the nomination when it actually comes up in January."

Reassuring and realistic, all in one go. "You're right, as usual." Ian moved one hand to give hers a squeeze of gratitude. "Where'd you get so good at these talks, anyway?"

Bonnie chuckled. "Working with skittish mares."

* * *

 _12/03/2018: And we're back! Thank you so long for your patience. This is another big one that's threatening to be longer than The Alchemist War! So expect regular new chapters for months to come._


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: 12/10/2018 Just a quick supporting-character reminder since it's been a bit since we've seen them. Gloria Fischer is Cal and Alyse's daughter (Alphonse's granddaughter), and Alexei is her long-time half-Drachman boyfriend who is a professional writer for a culture magazine of the National Geographic or Smithsonian sort._

* * *

 **December 12th, 1989**

If there was a woman in the world who looked more like a princess out of a Drachman fairy tale, Alexei Deviatovski had never seen her. He would quite willingly admit his bias on the matter, but watching Gloria marveling at the beauty of Drachma in winter, he doubted many men would argue.

Her form enveloped in a long dusty-blue coat of suede leather, lined in fleece and edged in white fur, her expressive face with its deep green eyes was a brilliant blossom set against a stark backdrop. Despite the frigid temperatures and near-constant snowfall since leaving Amestris, she never complained. Instead, she eagerly devoured every sight, and sound, and smell that Alexei wanted to share with her from this; his father's homeland. As much as Alexei was Amestrian, he was still proud of his father, and his heritage on both sides.

It was important to him that he had this chance to share what he loved of Drachma with his girlfriend. In the past two weeks they had traveled from the border all the way up to Petrayevka, stopping twice along the way to visit his family; first, his father's younger sister and her husband, their children and extended family, who lived in one of the small cities the train stopped in on the way north, and secondly, his grandparents, who lived in a small down just a few hours south of the capitol. Gloria and his family had gotten along famously. Then they had come into the city, and she had loved everything they had done together: touring the museums and palaces of the capitol, dining at his favorite restaurants, seeing the unique animals at the Drachman zoo, and attending the famous Drachman Ballet. The last he had known she would love, dancer that she was. He had never seen her perform, but they had danced together socially, and her grace and balance spoke volumes.

They had gone shopping too, because it would not do to be walking all over the city without appropriate winter garments: and nothing designed outside of Drachma would do for a Drachman winter. It was not just a point of pride, but a matter of common sense.

Gloria made even bulky fur-lined winter wear look glamorous. Along with the coat, with its fur-lined hood, she had bought white deer-skin leather gloves, also lined, and proper winter boots, and several sweaters and knit-wool sets of slacks. All fashionable, all reasonable, though Alexei suspected she might need another suitcase to take everything home again.

Tonight, all of that warm clothing was being put to good use, as they walked towards the skating ice marked out on the pond in the park in the center of the city. Another idea that Gloria had loved when Alexei had suggested it; Skating wasn't so different from dancing after all, and she had always wanted to see him skate. He knew that she knew now, but it was one thing that they had only gotten to do a handful of times, in the small rink in North City. To him, that was hardly an adequate space, and it was too crowded with other people to really get moving. So tonight, they would dance on the ice underneath the stars.

Surrounded in the cloud-hemmed glow of city lights and falling snow, they might have been alone, a thousand miles from anyone, instead of right in the middle of the largest city in Drachma. The world was softened by a sea of muffling white, one he surreptitiously captured with his camera, grateful that Gloria was not at all conscious about his tendency to take photographs of everything worth remembering. It was a hazard of the job. Still he was grateful, because she had quickly become one of his favorite subjects.

Everything about this was important to him, because he hoped she would be more than his girlfriend.

"It's huge!" Gloria gasped as they came out of the tree-lined path that led to the lake and gazed upon the wide expanse of solid ice, which was already doted by dozens of skaters, though it was not at all crowded this evening.

Alexei fingered the ring box in his pocket even as he moved up beside her, slipping one arm easily around her shoulders. "You see what I meant?"

She nodded. "I'm impressed. I can see why it would be a lot easier to practice ice sports up here! Are there a lot of lakes this big in Drachma?"

"Hundreds. Some are much bigger than this one," he added as they walked down the hill towards the little stand that rented skates. "This one is kept particularly smooth and cared for, since it is in a major tourist area. That makes it easier to skate on, but also perfect for dancing, and competitive skating demonstrations." He nodded out towards the middle of the ice, where more experienced skaters were skating backwards, practicing jumps, racing each other, or practicing ice dancing maneuvers. "While there are many professionals, almost every Drachman child learns to skate, and most of us are pretty good."

"So you've been telling me." Her smile turned competitive. "Now you're going to have to really prove it."

Since his skates were at home in North City, Alexei paid for them both to rent pairs, and in short order they were out on the ice. He took hold of Gloria's hand and led her out away from the edge, where the families and novice skaters were moving in careful circles, towards the middle, where the locals and those who actually practiced were hard at work and play. Not that they were all seasoned adults. Many of them were children who took regular lessons, those who were competitive and hoped to be professionals.

Gloria had no problem keeping up with him, but he had known she was competent, and they had danced often enough, he had no worries about her balance or ability to follow his lead.

They found an unclaimed patch of ice almost out in the clear center of the lake. Above them clouds were a mountain of soft gray-white, reflecting the rosy glow of city lights, and falling fat white flakes. Alexei turned Gloria to face him, and then held out his arms. "Will you waltz with me?"

Coy green eyes glinted in the light as she took his arms and stepped into position. "Just a waltz?"

"Oh, it will be much more than that," he promised her as he pushed off backwards, bringing her with him in a slow, wide arch, spinning her once around him in the middle.

She let out a small laugh of delight. Then they were off. Alexei kept himself going backwards through several turns, allowing her the time to get used to the feel of dancing on the ice, and keeping her feet down to glide aside from the occasional necessary steps to follow or turn. He held her firmly when he spun her, so there was no fear of being dropped before her feet were once more solidly where he placed her.

It turned out Gloria was an even faster learner than he had anticipated.

Together they flew across the ice, and he turned them around, so Gloria was going backwards, then they flipped again, and they twisted, and turned; small lifts placed her from right to left, or full circle and back in front. The chill wind stole their breath away, and exhilaration moved the night.

He did not have to ask if Gloria was feeling daring. She was laughing and bright-faced, and her eyes locked on his seemed to read his intention. Her expression said _whatever it is, I'm game._

Alexei gathered himself, and their energy, and lifted her up, up, and over his head, and his beautiful ballerina knew exactly what to do, suspended in the air, arms and legs outstretched and strong; a swan in flight.

As he brought her back down to the ice, he became vaguely aware of the sound of scattered applause over his deep breaths and pounding blood. Beyond the beauty in front of him, the local skaters seemed to have been interested in their unfamiliar compatriots.

As they slid to a stop, Gloria kissed him with a fierce passion he could not deny. Wrapping his arms around her, he returned the affectionate gesture.

This, right here, this moment… it was perfect.

As their lips parted, while his eyes remained locked on her joyous face, his fingers slid once more into his pocket. He took a deep breath to get his words back. "Gloria…"

"Yes?"

"You're amazing."

She blushed even redder under her flushed face. "You were pretty amazing yourself."

"I mean everything about you… is amazing. Every word. Every moment we spend together. Having you in arms reach each day has been even better than my dreams… and they were pretty good dreams."

Gloria chuckled. "I feel the same way."

"Good." Very good.

CRACK!

A short, sudden report echoed across the ice. Alexei spun, his eyes looking for the source of the sound, as he became aware that everyone else on the ice had stopped too. There did not appear to be any cracks in the ice, and it had not been that kind of reverberating boom. All eyes were staring up the hill from the park, towards the government complex.

The next report was a sound Alexei wished he had not recognized, as a barrage of gunfire rang out through the night air. Within seconds, he could see flashes of light, and hear the indeterminate rumbling of angry voices.

Panic broke out on the ice, as people shouted to their friends and families, and darted for the shore. Many took off for the opposite side of the lake, away from the direction of the gunfire.

Gloria didn't ask what was happening, she merely gripped his sleeve. "Alexei. Let's go!"

He took her hand and followed. Together they raced across the ice, as the sounds grew louder and louder behind them. They hit the shore, and stumbled up through the banks of snow into a copse of leafless birch trees. Other skaters, there ahead of them, were already out of site. Some had left hastily ripped off skates lying in the snow.  
Panting hard, Alexei pulled Gloria down behind a bush long enough to yank their skates off, grateful he had rented tie-ons that had gone over their regular footwear.

"What's going on?" she asked, glancing back through the bushes.

"Nothing good," he commented, knowing it was painfully obvious, but having no more specific answer. He looked as well. The sounds were louder now, and clearer. There was definitely shooting, screaming, and shouting. Movements blurred by distance shows people still running. "It looks like a riot, and it's coming from the direction of the government district." Given Drachma's history, that did not bode well. The fact that it had been several minutes and it was not over, implied this was a well planned and executed riot. He silently cursed at the fact they were nowhere they could easily get a news report, and he didn't dare get closer.

From where they were, the riot only seemed to be growing louder, and larger.

"We've got to get back to the Embassy," Gloria said firmly. "Now."

"Agreed." He was grateful that the Amestrian Embassy House –where Gloria had been able to get them rooms for free thanks to her family—was in a residential area, south from here, and not back north-west towards the government buildings. Alexei was fairly certain they could outrun the mob, but not the guns. He blocked out the screams that carried across the ice as he and Gloria ducked down, slid down the hill, and ran to the edge of the park.

It was a long, dark, terrifying scramble through the city streets. Alexei had never considered himself to be a coward. He was not a trained soldier, and there was little he could do in a riot situation to help the police. The best thing he and Gloria could do was get out of the way, and get to safety. If anything happened to her….

Yet she didn't seem particularly terrified as they hurried through the streets, which were quickly emptying of the usual evening crowds as the news spread. Gloria stuck close to him, but she wasn't being led. She moved with purpose, alert and focused.

Partway there they paused outside a television shop long enough to catch a few moments of live footage and a reporter babbling frantically in rapid Drachman that even Alexei was a little hard-pressed to follow, but what he heard froze his blood.

"What's wrong?" Gloria was looking up at him.

Alexei realized his hand had tightened on hers. "It's not just a riot," he said softly. "They're reporting shootings in the government assembly hall." No names yet, or a confirmed number of fatalities, but if they had been holding a late session, it could be any number of representatives.

Gloria's face went ashen. "It's a coup?"

"Possibly." Alexei started moving again. They had to get to safety. Behind the iron gates of the Embassy was the closest place. Diplomatic Immunity might be the only thing protecting it…if anything.

His mind was racing. Drachma had a history of violent and unstable government overthrows, but things had been stable for years now, at least compared to the past. Things had been moving towards an internal peace that his father had hoped for.

But this—this could be the start of something much, much worse. There were too many people involved; it was too well organized. He didn't tell Gloria how far it had already spread. It would only scare her.

It took them over half-an-hour to make it to the Embassy on foot. Alexei had never been so happy to see anyplace as they ran up to the gates. Gloria hit the button on the electric announcement system. "It's Gloria Fischer! We're outside. Please let us in!"

Seconds later two armed guards appeared at the gates, recognized them, and let them slip inside, locking it again immediately. One remained at the gate while the other escorted them through the gardens, up the front walk, and into the large house.

"Thank goodness you're all right!" Andrew Tillers, the current Ambassador, gasped as he hurried into the room. A tall, thin man in his mid-forties, Tillers certainly looked the part of a diplomat. He clasped Gloria's hand tightly, and Alexei had a feeling at least a part of that had to do with the fact that the General would have killed him if anything happened to his daughter.

"How far has it spread?" Alexei blurted out, heading into the living room, where he could hear the news broadcast coming from the television set.

Tillers' expressed turned dour. "They've taken over the entire government district."

"What are the police and the military doing?" Alexei could hardly believe it had happened so quickly. The images on the screen were surreal, and at a distance, as even the news crew did not dare to get too close. There was shouting, fighting…

"They're fighting each other, and themselves."

"What?" Alexei stared at the smaller man.

"It is a coup," Gloria breathed. "It has to be, if they've got the police force and the military split. They must have gotten factions from within both forces on their side from the beginning." She turned to Tillers. "Have you called Headquarters?"

"Don't you think I've tried that?" Tillers did not sound amused at being questioned by a civilian. "They've thought this through. The phone lines out of the city must have been cut, because we can't connect a call to anywhere beyond the city limits. I got through to the office in the government district only long enough to be told people are panicked and evacuating."

"Evacuating where?"

"They did not give me that information."

"What are we doing then?" Gloria asked, her tone tight and more demanding than usual. "Are we going to hope they don't come this far? If it's a government overthrow, diplomatic immunity may or may not mean anything."

"We are working on arrangements to leave the city as soon as it is possible to do so," Tillers informed her. "Where we are going has not yet been determined. If you'll excuse me, I have work to get back to. You should pack your things. If we do move, it may be quickly." Then, abruptly, he left them standing there.

His assistant, Lita Chalmers, looked apologetic. Alexei hadn't even seen her standing in the doorway. "He's been trying to get more information and vehicles. We only have the two Embassy cars, and they won't move everyone that's here. We also don't know where would be safe to go, or how much of the government is still intact, if it is, or who's in charge. You must understand that it's too dangerous to flee without a plan."

"Of course," Gloria nodded.

Alexei balled his fists in frustration, but he understood. This was not his specialty. What was his specialty was finding out information, and reporting it. At the moment, all he could do was pay attention to everything, write it down, and hope that it might be useful.

"Let's get packed," Gloria suggested, tugging on his arm. "Come on."

He realized she was trying to soothe him. Alexei willed himself to relax. "Yes. We need to be ready for anything."

"I'll admit, I wasn't ready for this when you wanted to show me the real Drachma."

It took him a few seconds to realize she was making a joke. Alexei pulled her close in a tight hug. "How are you so calm about this?"

Gloria wrapped her arms around his chest as far as they would reach. "My family history is full of crazy," she reminded him. "When I was in high school, alchemist hating terrorists kidnapped my little brother. Dad's been shot or blown up I've lost count how many times, in at least four countries. Don't get me started on Grandpa and his brother. Military and alchemists and stupid crazy stuff all just seem to go together, and it never leaves the rest of us out of it. After Charlie got kidnapped, Dad taught us a few things."

Alexei hadn't thought of that. He had heard about the kidnapping, but it had been years ago, and not something of which he had considered the long-lasting effects. Gloria had told him years ago that he had taught her some self-defense. With a dancer's strength, Alexei was sure any kick or punch Gloria landed would be solid. He had also taught her some basic alchemy, which Alexei had never asked her to demonstrate, and Gloria had only used it once in his presence, to repair his favorite coffee mug when it had slipped off the desk and cracked once. "Well I'm borrowing some of your courage," he said as he squeezed a little tighter. "I have a feeling I'm going to need it."

* * *

Gloria had never packed so quickly in her life. Despite Alexei's teasing her about the shopping they had done, everything she had, plus what she had bought, fit snugly into the one suitcase she had packed for the trip, so she didn't have to make any difficult choices about leaving anything behind. Not that she cared enough for any object to worry about it, but it was somehow a little reassuring to know that she had one bag, and that would be enough.

The waiting was as bad as waiting to hear about Charlie and her father during the kidnapping, and the agonizing hour when she had panicked because her brother had been taken and there was nothing she could do. Gloria hated feeling helpless, and she had set out to make sure she never did it again.

She could not control what was happening, though part of her itched to be out there with her pen and camera; she was a reporter, that was what she did — except here. So Gloria would control what she could. Quick packing, which included a change of clothes into denim, double-layered sweaters, and then getting back into the practical boots she had already been wearing, and laying out the winter wear for a quick exit. Any extra space in her bag had been stuffed with first aid supplies and snacks from the kitchen that wouldn't go immediately bad- several apples, granola bars she suspected belonged to Tillers, and two bags of Drachman elk jerky.

When she returned downstairs, Alexei was already back in the living room, staring intently at the television along with most of the remaining embassy staff. Mostly they were staring at the screen, listening with rapt attention, and occasionally murmuring between themselves.

It was as she approached that everyone went suddenly silent. Looks of horror and shock dawned across nearly a dozen faces.

Gloria felt ice form in the pit of her stomach. "What's wrong?"

"Gurina's dead."

The voice did not come from anyone around the television. As one, they all turned to look at Tillers, who had returned. Someone cursed.

"We're leaving," Tillers continued. "The Chairman, and over fifty representatives, have been murdered. Fifteen more were wounded, and who knows how many fled, or who sided with this insanity." He gestured at the screen. "Mihalov is sending us another car, and any other vehicles he can find. He's put out a call for anyone siding against this coup in the government to evacuate north-east. His family's traditional holdings are there, in an old, walled city. We're going now, before the current dissidents figure out where the rest of the government is fleeing."

Mihalov; wasn't that Chairman Gurina's nephew? Gloria was sure she had heard the name, but she wasn't positive. "Who are the dissidents?" she asked, tired of being talked around, and frustrated that she only understood about a quarter of what was being rattled off on the screen. Her Drachman was not terrible, but it was far from fluent.

"The Zinovek Party appears to be behind this," Tillers continued with clear distaste. Gloria did not know the name, but the immediate reactions from the rest of the embassy staff confirmed—as much as the news—that this disaster was not going to end favorably for anyone. The wanton murder in the streets had told her that much.  
"I want everyone in the garage in fifteen minutes. Expect Mihalov's men at the gates in ten. Only let them in if they know the code word Aerugean Tacos. We've drilled for this, and I'm sorry that things have turned out this way. Stay safe. There are three routes to where we are going. The vehicles will be given different sets of directions to make it less obvious where we are going, and avoid making everyone targets at once. Once a provisional government position is set up, hopefully we will be able to get word back to Amestris."

"Then they can send in the cavalry," one of the aides chuckled nervously. He wasn't much older than she.

"Certainly the government will do whatever it can to come to a peaceful resolution with whomever ends up in power in the current situation, and get them to allow us to leave, or negotiate a new peace." He did not sound as though he completely believed that part, but Gloria knew that, as a diplomat to Drachma, he could not afford to officially take sides in this conflict. Still, fleeing with Mihalov and other scattered members of the government was not going to look unbiased. At least, Gloria presumed, he could make the case for protecting his people first.

The next ten minutes felt like an eternity. Gloria left the television and stared out the window towards the north. Above the trees and multi-story row houses between her and the government district, she could see the normally rose-glow of the city lights had turned a dingy red, and dark smoke coiled up from several places. The city was on fire, and she couldn't help the shudder that ran down her spine, but Gloria was mostly surprised by the odd stillness that filled her. She was terrified, but it was as if some part of her body had shunted her fear away temporarily. Out there, people were dying for what they believed; dying to protect the innocent; dying to prove a point, likely on both sides. She didn't know much about these Zinoveks, but if riots like these were how they operated, she already despised them on principle.

There was no way this was good for Drachma. She couldn't see how. No country was perfect, but anything that simply…killed people like this, could be.

"I'm still having trouble processing that this is happening," Alexei admitted in a soft voice as he came up behind her. "I mean, academically—professionally—my head's there, but it's just so insane. I wonder if this is how my father felt when he was ordered to invade Amestris."

"It sounds like how my parents felt when they invaded," Gloria acknowledged, reaching back and grabbing Alexei's arms, drawing them around her like a shawl. "At least at first. Like it was impossible. Like it was completely crazy and someone had to be making it up, except it was actually happening. Dad said it only felt real when they started killing people."

"Then let's hope it doesn't come to that, at least not on our part. It's too late for them."

Gloria wanted to get out of here, and go home, but she knew they were going the wrong way for that. After this, would Drachma and Amestris be enemies again? The idea that her family might be thrown into battle again to help the fleeing members of the government they had been allied with terrified her. Her father had somehow evaded death more times than she could count. Could his luck hold out? Her little brother had just enlisted. Would he be sent to fight? "We've got to do something. I can't just watch this happen, but I don't know what to do right now besides survive."

"It's a start."

Below them, Gloria saw the gates open to allow in two more cars, and a pair of motorcycles. "It's time to go."

* * *

All told, there were four vehicles and two motorcycles available for the evacuation of the Amestrian Embassy. As mix-and-match as the vehicles were, Alexei was grateful that the Chairman's nephew cared enough for the Amestrians to have sent anything and filled them in on the evacuation plan. Still, it told him that Mihalov did not think the people attempting to take over would be favorable or forgiving. They needed to get out of the city until the remaining members of the military and police regained control and it was safe.

The cars filled quickly. What he had not counted on was his girlfriend's stubborn refusal to get in a car without him. "If you're not getting in, neither am I," she insisted stubbornly, arms crossed in front of her.

"There's not room for both of us," he objected, feeling a flutter of panic. He didn't want to be separated either, but he was certain she would be safer in the solid metal station wagon that had one seat left. "And I can drive a motorcycle." That was his plan. They were splitting the group up, two cars on one route, two on the other, and the motorcycles on the third.

"Then I'll ride with you. It will carry two," she gestured at the large black motorbike. She was right, of course. It had restraints for two and plenty of space. It even had a rack and bag that looked big enough to carry his bag and hers.

He could argue with her, or he could keep her close. His head and his heart were at war, but it only took him a few moments to realize it wasn't really his decision. Gloria had made her own. "All right." He turned to the other man who was riding the other motorcycle, one of the Embassy guards, a man he only knew as Kyle. "You know the route?"  
Kyle nodded as he strapped on his helmet. "Straight west, get out of the city, then pick up the northwest highway up through the mountains. There are almost no forks in the highway up there, so it will be hard to get lost, and there are a handful of small villages we can stop in for gas and lodging."

"How long will the trip take?" Gloria asked as she grabbed the second helmet off the back of their bike, put it on, and started strapping their bags to the rack with packing straps with surprising efficiency.

"Two or three days, if we're fortunate. The roads may not be plowed well up there, and it depends on how long we can handle the cold."

"The cars are heated," Alexei reminded Gloria when she looked concerned.

She flashed him a cocky grin. "I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can." He was even more grateful now that she had purchased sensible winter wear. Alexei finished adjusting his own helmet and straddled the bike. He had ridden several like it in his visits growing up, and his father owned a motorcycle in Amestris, so it only took him a moment to verify his familiarity with all the critical controls.

As he did, Gloria settled in behind him, buckled tightly, and wrapped her arms around his back.

"Okay. Let's get the heck out of here."

"As you wish."


	3. Chapter 3

**Still December 12th, 1989**

Gloria clung to Alexei's back feeling terrified and exhilarated as the two motorcycles zipped through roads that were alternately over-crowded and blocked, or devoid of life, weaving in and out of Petrayevka traffic, breaking what had to be dozens of traffic laws. It was telling that no one tried to stop them. Behind them, if she glanced over her shoulder, the fiery glow raged. She couldn't hear the shooting anymore, but that had to do with the roar of engines, the battering wind, and the screams and shouts and honks of the people are vehicles around them. So she closed her eyes against the cold, and pressed herself down small against Alexei's broad back, and prayed that they got out of this in one piece.

She lost track of time. Her arms ached, and her legs, and her face stung. She couldn't talk to Alexei over the noise, and he didn't try to shout back. She didn't distract him. He was focused on following Kyle.

Eventually they broke free of the city. Her first clue was the sudden lack of lights to either side of them, as they passed the last suburbs. Gloria dared to sit up a little then, and saw that there was a lot of traffic, but it wasn't the gridlock they had faced in parts of the city. They took an exit, and shifted direction onto another highway. Given the darkness, she had to presume they had moved onto the highway Kyle had mentioned. She could only read parts of the road signs, and when she could figure out a name, she didn't know where it was in relation to anything else. It frustrated her.

The night grew darker; the roads less busy. The clouds blocked the stars, and she had no way to tell the time, with her watch buried under layers of sleeves and gloves.

They continued on into the night.

* * *

"Edward if you eat any more of those cookies I'm removing your limbs," Winry threatened from across the kitchen.

Ed laughed at the idle threat, but he didn't touch the tray of peanut-butter chocolate cookies cooling on the counter. "You don't really expect them to last until our guests arrive do you?" Their first holiday guests would not be arriving for almost a week.

"No, but I'd like them to last a few days, and for the rest of us to get to enjoy them." She crossed the room. "If you eat them all, I simply won't make more, and you know they'll all blame you."

"I know, I know." Ed kissed her cheek. "Don't blow up about it. I'll behave."

"That'll be a first."

"Edward!" Alphonse's sudden shout from across the room made him turn, the cookies forgotten. There was a note of worry in that voice. "Get over here and look at this!"

Ed crossed the living room to the couches, where Alphonse and Elicia were watching the late-evening news. The dogs, lying between the television and the fireplace, did not move, but both heads came up as if they sensed something wrong. "What's going on Al?"

His brother gestured at the television, where a very grim Lester Walters held a note he had obviously been handed, and he looked dour. "—no clear word on the number of casualties," he was saying, "but initial reports put the numbers in the hundreds. No one has been able to confirm who is running what appears to be a complete overthrow of the existing Drachman government, but the rioting is rumored to have been going on for nearly four hours, with the military and the police forces split between factions and fighting amongst themselves. Petrayevka is in chaos, and there has been no word from the Amestrian Embassy. Reports suggest that phone lines out of the city were cut before coup began."

Not again, damn it all to hell, not again! Ed moaned.

"If you'll hold on a moment, we're about to put on footage taken earlier this evening from Petrayevkan news sources, smuggled out of the city, and coming across from Drachman news sources."

There was a silent moment, and then the screen filled with images Edward knew only too well; rioting in the streets, people screaming, dying, men fighting people who had been their friends and coworkers in a civil war he only prayed would be staunched quickly, but Ed knew better. Drachma had overthrown governments every couple of decades his entire life. They had been foolish to think it wouldn't happen again.

"Those poor people," Winry spoke softly, eyes glistening.

"It's horrible," Elicia said at almost the same moment. There was a look of fear on his face as she stood abruptly. "I've got to call Alyse!"

She was halfway to the phone before Edward remembered that Gloria and her boyfriend were supposed to be in Petrayevka right now.

Al was staring intently at the scene in front of them, shaking his head. "Damn it, Ed," he said with vehemence through gritted teeth. "When will they ever learn?"

"I don't know, Al." Ed sighed. "Whoever it is, I doubt they're going to want to keep the existing treaty with us, and if they try and hold the Ambassadors hostage, or if they kill anyone, they're going to make an enemy of Amestris in about two seconds."

Behind him he could hear Elicia on the phone, speaking rapidly with her daughter on the other end of the line, though he couldn't make out the specifics. His own mind was racing with what he knew of the current political situation in Drachma. He doubted very much that the government with which they had enjoyed peace would still be in power in the morning, or in control of the city. If anyone had taken long enough to build up a power base and convert a good portion of the military and civilian powers to their side, than they would have picked their moment to strike very carefully, and when they were fairly certain of success. This would have been long in coming, painstakingly planned. By morning, he expected an official declaration of control and a new figurehead. He'd bet his remaining limbs on it.

"Well?" Alphonse asked when Elicia rejoined them, looking pale.

Elicia shook her head. "No word out about anyone Amestrian. No word from the Embassy. She said Cal's been called into the office, and even the international branch of Investigations hasn't turned up any reports of whether or not the Embassy is still standing, let alone if anyone has been taken captive… or killed."

"They won't risk starting a full on war with Amestris," Alphonse assured her, pulling his wife close in a hug. "Not immediately anyway. We'll find her. After all, she's part of our family. That means she's got the family run of stupid insane luck on her side, and a boyfriend with her who would move mountains to protect her if she needs it."

On the television, the clip ended, and the image returned to Lester Walters, looking even older and grayer than usual, frowning behind his glasses. "There you have it folks. The fighting continues in Petrayevka, but who knows who will control the Drachman seat of power tomorrow. We will, of course, keep you informed of any new information in this developing international crisis. Stay tuned in to ABN, Amestrian Broadcast News, for breaking reports throughout the night."

The broadcast went to a commercial, and Edward reached out and turned down the volume. "Whoever is behind this is either a complete fool, or a mad genius. Unfortunately, I'd bet on the latter."

Al glanced at him over Elicia's shoulder. "If he or she is like the others, they'll announce themselves as soon as they subdue the masses, and declare change of regime."

"Then we'll know who we're dealing with."

"What do you mean we, Edward?" Winry's expression dared him to defy her, but it said she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Or at least thought she did. "Easy, Winry," he made a calming gesture with his hands. "I'm not about to go charging off half-cocked into the depth of Drachman winter. That doesn't mean they may not want us in Central." They had decades of knowledge, and experience in Drachma, that might be useful.

"Or just on the phone," Al pointed out, though he almost sounded disappointed. Like Ed, he wasn't one to leave Drachma to do things their way. It never went well. "It's not like they're going to ask us to take the mission."

Of course not. They were too old, not that Ed would admit that out loud if anyone ever asked. "Let's just hope, in the end, this coup fails."

 **December 13th, 1989**

Franz was almost sorry he had turned down Cal Fischer's only partially joking offer to spike the coffee pot in the President's office by the time dawn came, because with it came the ultimatum they had been afraid of, and one delivered on a televised feed that went out across all of Drachma, and was easily routed to Amestrian Headquarters. It was fuzzy, and not the best quality, but the face of a stout, balding, older man with a thick fringe of white hair and sharp, dark brown eyes, wearing a suit, but one too find and expensive for any regular government official. He wore the chains of his noble family.

Franz would not have known who he was if Tore Closson hadn't spit out his coffee halfway across the room when the image came on the screen.

"That guy was an Ambassador!" Tore exclaimed. "Back when we kept almost getting blown up during those trade agreements."

"Well, pay attention and prepare to translate then," Franz snapped, though he doubted it would be entirely necessary. While he, Cal, and Tore all spoke some Drachman, their Drachman linguistics specialist, Elisa Hawkins was also there with them, and the handful of staff Franz had dragged into the office overnight. She had held up surprisingly well, not that Franz had expected less. There were moments the younger woman reminded him of Riza Hawkeye, name similarities notwithstanding.

As the man began to speak, Elisa translated.

"Fellow Drachmans! I, Gerase Valhov, stand before you today, to speak of the dawning of a new age; an age in which the dignity of Drachma is reborn! Our long history has been one of unstable regimes, from the so-called emperors of old, to a long line of corrupt Chairmen, pretending not to be despots in search of personal glory and money. The common worker's plight has been ignored, and so too has that of old, proud noble families, who have been pushed aside, and not allowed to truly serve their great nation. Today, that has changed! Last night, patriots liberated Drachma from the corruption at the top. I regret, deeply, the misguided actions of those who attempted to stop us from what could have been a peaceful changing of the guard. Until such time as we are sure it is safe for Drachman citizens, Petrayevka will remain under active military patrol, working with the local constabulary to maintain control and safety. Change has come to Drachma, and as we all work together, we can find a new balance, one between the old ways new radicalism."

"I also regret to confirm that, in the chaos of last night, Former Chairman Ermolia Gurina was brutally attacked by insurgents seeking to impede a peaceful and legal vote of non-confidence, and has died of his unfortunate and severe injuries. Many were severely wounded in the fighting that broke out, sparking last night's horrible atrocities. In the light of this, the government has wisely voted to appoint me as your new Chairman, though that title will no longer be used. Due to the sharp and sudden number of vacancies in the government, until new elections can be held, all government decisions will be made by a capable cabinet of knowledgeable individuals who are already members of the governing body in long, good standing."

"Until peace is fully restored, please know that the borders between Drachma and all other bordering nations will be closed for an as yet undetermined period of time, while current treaties are reviewed, and diplomatic discussions are held with those countries to revise our existing policies to be equally conducive to Drachman matters."

"Together, we move forward. Together, we stand firm. Drachma on Drachman terms!"

There was a smattering of applause from whoever was apparently standing in the room where this Gerase Valhov was standing, before the feed cut out.

Franz turned to face the alchemists, translator, and the other handful of high-ranking officers he had pulled in for the all-night brainstorming and information gathering session. "Thoughts?"

"This has martial law and dictatorship written all over it," Cal quipped.

Tore nodded. "During our mission back in seventy-three, Valhov was one of the two Ambassadors on the Drachman end that helped negotiate the terms of our agreement. So either he's had a change of heart, or he's been acting the whole time."

"I'd believe that," General Anastas nodded, which elicited noises of agreement from the others in the room. "Working from the inside is an effective strategy if you can keep from being caught. It was proven enough back in the days after the Ishval Massacre, when they had to deal with King Bradley."

Anastas was citing history books, but Franz knew someone who had dealt with it all in person. Multiple someones. "If he's been working with them all this time, than this was much longer in the planning than we have any way of knowing, and he may have been playing double-agent then too, given how close to dying you all came, repeatedly."  
Tore sipped his coffee. "We didn't get to know him very well on a personal level. He played his cards very close, even though he seemed amicable enough on the surface. We had no reason to think much of it at the time. That raid on their little backroom hideout caught enough people the Drachman government seemed to think it was handled. Now I wonder if that's only because he stepped in."

"Do we know anything else about him?" Franz looked around the room, his eyes stopping back on Anastas, who was James' boss over in Investigations.

"Only items that are matters of public record," Anastas said. "He's Seventy-Nine years old this year, born in April. His wife died five years ago of heart failure. They were childless. Politically, he's always been a bit of an enigma if you follow his actual record. He seems very middle-of-the-road on most issues, but has supported the rights of the working man despite being from a very old, very wealthy Drachman family. Reports say he still spends much of his time on the family estate which is several days northwest of Petrayevka, though he spends most of his time in his city home, which is also on the north end of the city, where he can travel much more quickly in to the government district."

"Any sign of alchemical activity last night?" It was a horrible thing to consider, but the Drachmans had abused alchemy more than once, and their love-superstition-hate relationship with the entire science was a muddy mess.

"None," Cal reported, looking only mildly relieved. "I'm much more concerned about how quickly the fires spread, and how many people they killed with regular weapons. Though it does make me wonder, since it sounds like his estates are in the same direction as the last, you know, top secret alchemical facility hidden away in the Drachman wilderness in that general direction. It seems to be popular."

"Anything else?" Franz asked Anastas.

The dark-skinned man shook his head. "Not unless you care about his waist measurements. I have no idea how we got a hold of information from his tailor. There's a whiz kid down in my department who finds all sorts of strange information."

Franz did not ask if the "whiz-kid" was his son. It didn't really matter one way or another at the moment. "No, thank you." He sighed. "I guess we should expect to get a message directed our way sooner rather than later from him regarding the status of our relationship with Drachma. Is there any news about any resistance in the capitol? There were those rumors that some of the government members made it out during the mass exodus from the city last night when everyone panicked. Any word on them, or on any of our people?"

More grim faces, and shaken heads.

"Only an unsubstantiated report that the Embassy is still standing, but that it's empty," Cal flipped through a couple of pages of scribbled notes that were all they had in the way of reports. "It looks like they might have taken the embassy cars and fled, but whichever direction they went, we don't know. They'll have to contact us it looks like." His voice was tight, and Franz felt a twinge of sympathy, along with his shared concern for the safety of family. There was no way to know, even if they got out, if Gloria and her boyfriend had been with them. Everything had blown up right in the middle of the early evening, when so many people were out at dinner, socializing, having fun in a city that big.

"So what are we supposed to do right now?" Tore asked. "We can't just sit here on our asses until Drachma decides they want to invade us again. We'll be lucky if they decide to ignore us. History is not running in our favor."

Another ugly truth. Franz sighed. "I'm not inclined to reach out to this Valhov. It would legitimize his claims to be the new head of government, and I don't buy his story about accidents or a legal emergency vote any more than I'd buy a magazine claiming aliens kidnapped my mother."

"We can't just do nothing," General Cross argued.

"We're hardly doing nothing," Anastas groused, smacking the reports in his fist with the flat of his other hand.

"Still, it's not like we can just reach out and talk to the government right now," Cal commented with a deep look on his face. "If they've killed even half as many people as the rumors suggest, than that's a huge hit, and we don't know who survived or who may be organizing what remains of the existing administration with Gurina dead, but you can bet they aren't going to just roll over for these guys, even if it takes them a while to figure out a counter strike."

Franz agreed with that assessment. "If they do, they'll reach out to us. After all, we are their allies, or were. What will be the difficult decision will be what we do if they are at a clear disadvantage. Do we involve ourselves in someone else's civil war?"

The room got quiet, because right now, there was no definitive answer. They would just have to wait, agonizing, and see.

* * *

Cheap gas station coffee had never tasted so good. Gloria clutched the Styrofoam cup in her gloved hands, letting the steam warm her face as she sat on the bench just outside the cramped station's door. The heat was better than the taste, which was thin and bitter, but after the last twelve hours, she no longer cared one way or the other.

"Here, I got you this." Alexei held out a small round pastry that looked something similar to a bagel, but smaller and coated in poppy seeds. "It's warm."

She took it as he sat down beside her. "Thank you." It was also warm, and the first bite was much more satisfying than her coffee.

"I'm really sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I wasn't expecting that moose."

"At least it wasn't one of those giant white bears." Gloria was grateful Alexei was as skilled a driver as he was, and that the snow was thick. When he had successfully swerved to avoid the moose they had gone plowing into a bank of powdery snow. It had taken ten minutes for them, even with Kyle's help, when he stopped and came back around to help, to dig the bike back out and get things re-settled. The hour to this gas station in the back end of nowhere

"You're too sweet to be eaten."

Gloria swallowed her second bite. "I thought you liked sweets."

Out of the corner of her eye, Alexei's cheeks flushed with a little more than cold. "That was not what I meant."

She liked catching him off guard. It did not happen often that she was able to fluster him. "So that look you get on your face…"

"What look?" Now he looked puzzled.

"The one you get when you look at me. Like you had on your fast last night… on the ice." In the middle of that beautiful, magical moment before the world had fallen apart around them. "You wanted to say something to me," she added, nudging him in the direction she wanted the conversation to take. He had been looking at her with such hope, and longing, and uncharacteristic nervousness, that she had felt a sense of anticipation.

Alexei nodded, but he had stopped eating his bread mid-bite. He chewed slowly, and she couldn't decide if he was thinking or just stalling. "It's not pressing," he said after a few seconds. "This doesn't really seem like the right time or setting either."

Which did not mean that, now that she had time to think on it, the waiting wasn't going to kill her. "There may not be a better one," Gloria pointed out flatly. "Who knows what things will look like by the time we reach where we're going." Or if they would reach it, she thought. There was always that possibility.

Alexei nodded, looking both resigned and disappointed. "You're right." One hand went into the pocket of his brown leather coat. "This is not at all what I had planned, but there are no wrong moments with you, are there?"

Gloria's heart fluttered as her suspicions grew. "Not if we're together," she replied, setting the bagel-thing down on her lap.

"And that's all I want." Alexei took her hand in his free one, before bringing out the other. She could not see what was muffled in his thickly-gloved hand, but she could guess. "To be with you for the rest of time, for all the remaining sunrises, and sunsets, and moments of our lives." He pressed the object into her gloved hand. "I love you, Gloria, in all the depths of my soul. Everything is right in the universe when I am with you, no matter how crazy things get. Please say you feel the same; that you want a life together as much as I do."

Gloria unfolded their hands, and looked at the delicate band that symbolized the steel-clad strings that already held their hearts together. White-gold held a row of the most unusual stones she had ever seen: diamonds she would have sworn based on cut, translucence, and the way they caught the sunlight, except for the colors. One was a pale golden yellow, the next a soft green, and the third purple. "I've never seen anything like them!"

"Unique brilliance for someone uniquely brilliant." Alexei was smiling, but he looked tense.

It took Gloria a moment to realize it was because she hadn't actually answered the inferred question. "I love you," she replied, smiling as she closed her hand around the ring. "Being with you brightens my heart, and the whole world, even in the little things. I want to be with you, too, through every adventure, and every lazy rainy day, life may throw at us." She leaned in close until their noses were almost touching. "After this, I hope you don't mind if I wish for more of those lazy rainy days."

Alexei chuckled deeply. "Not at all. I feel the same." Then he closed the last few centimeters and kissed her, long and slow.

Gloria's coffee sat forgotten on the bench as she wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling a dampness on her cheek; tears she realized, startled.

"Are you alright?" Alexei asked, breaking off the kiss. He looked worried and puzzled.

"I'm fine." She used her sleeve to dab them off. "I'm just happy. I needed this right now."

"Then it was the perfect time after all." Alexei smiled, and reached for her hand, slowly removing her glove. She let him, as he freed the ring from her other hand and slid it onto her finger. Then he put the glove back on over it. "There it is, nice and safe, right where it belongs."

Gloria snuggled in closer against him as the cold wind picked up. "As long as we're together, so are we."

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when Cal stumbled through the door from his garage into the living room, feeling like death warmed over and an overwound watch all at once. He had objected to going home, but Franz had insisted that all of his highest ranking officers go home in shifts. He would call them back if needed, but everyone needed time at home, to be with their families, and catch sleep somewhere other than desks, and eat—and bathe. Even a short few hours was better than nothing, and the lack of definitive new information over the course of the day just made everyone edgy. Franz had spent most of it holed up in his office anyway, fielding an endless line of phone calls from Assemblymen wanting updates and offering everything from suggestions to demands on how things should be handled.

"You're home!" Alyse poked her head out of the kitchen, startled, then hurried across the room and hugged him tightly. "Any news? Any word at all about Gloria? What's going on?"

"Easy, I'll answer everything," Cal promised, kissing her forehead and then holding her at arm's length. "After I've had a shower and something to eat. For now, all I can tell you is there's almost no news that's useful, and what there is isn't good."

"I'm supposed to wait to hear about that?" Alyse looked furious. "I need to know where my daughter is, Calvin!"

"We both do, and we'll find out." Cal let her go. "Please, 'Lyse, I need a few minutes."

She took a deep breath, but calmed down. "I understand. Dinner is already in the oven."

"What are we having?"

"Mom's beef-and-winter-veggie lasagna."

"Oh good. I love that recipe."

Cal took his time soaking in the shower. He had no idea when he'd get another one if everything went to hell with the Drachma situation, which his gut instincts told him it would. Nothing with Drachma ever went as planned, and it never went easy. There had been incursions on the border for decades, then complicated alchemist activities—all illegal or taboo—and then the invasion. Every diplomatic mission turned into a disaster and threatened people he cared about. The whole country was nothing but a big, hot, political mess. Now their internal squabbling had put his baby girl at risk, and if anything happened to her, he was going to march into Drachma and destroy everything between the border and the people who hurt her.

If the Assembly decided the best course of action was to declare a truce and make a new treaty with this new Drachman government… Cal wasn't sure he could stomach it. It felt like a betrayal, and it hadn't even happened yet.

After he had dried off and slipped temporarily into civilian clothes, Cal went downstairs, following the smell of dinner.

Alyse had already set the table for the two of them. Along with the lasagna was a freshly tossed salad, crunchy hot garlic bread, and a large pitcher of what turned out to be sweetened tea and lemon. Cal took that as the offering it was meant to be—a highly caffeinated alternative to a good strong drink he couldn't afford to have right now—and poured himself a large glass, draining it in a few long gulps. "This looks great."

"I thought you could probably use a good meal, given I know what you've probably eaten since you went to work last night."

"Oh, and what's that?" Cal asked lightly as they sat down across the table from each other. He reached straight for his flatware and dug in.

"Coffee, more coffee, and leftover over-sugared pastries; probably donuts, but it depends on what was delivered yesterday morning."

"Accurate on all accounts, except that we also had leftover bagels, which weren't coated in sugar," Cal countered around a mouthful of bread.

Alyse shook her head. "So, of course, you did the reasonable thing and only had bagels." Her tone said quite clearly she did not believe it.

"Guilty as charged and I'm not going to defend myself." She had to know by now that there were just only so many things that worked as officer fuel at some hours of the night.

At least she didn't seem to be upset. They were well past that part of their relationship. Instead, she looked at him expectantly. "That's fine. Now, tell me what's going on."

Over the next half hour, Cal told her what he could about what they knew out of Drachma—if it was on television it wasn't classified—and what few rumors seemed to have any weight. "With no phone lines in and out of Petrayevka, any information we might get is as delayed as it was in the old days." He felt spoiled by how fast information moved these days. He had forgotten the agony of waiting a week or more for useful data. "All we do know is that this Valhov guy hasn't announced any international hostages or made any threats against them. He's just said he's going to be renegotiating treaties, which means eventually we should hear something, cause he'll have to talk to somebody."

"But nothing about Gloria, or Alexei."

"No, not a word." Cal did not, for a moment, think that his daughter's boyfriend had anything to do with this mess, no matter the absolutely horrific timing of their vacation. Much as he distrusted most Drachmans on principle, even he couldn't see Alexei being involved in something like this. If anything, the younger man was so devoted to his daughter, he'd probably have taken a bullet for her instead, though at this moment that was only mildly reassuring. "Right now, that's as likely to be good news as bad."

"I don't like uncertainties."

"Neither do I, but I'll take maybes over confirmed deaths right now," he replied, a little shorter than he meant to. "Sorry. Damn it, I'm tired." He ran one hand through his head and leaned back in his chair. He had already worked his way through thirds and was finally feeling full. "I am just so tired of dealing with Drachma. You'd think, for once, they could just settle down and stop trying to blow each other up. It never ends well for them, or us."

"They might resolve this without our intervention, you know," Alyse pointed out. "All that matters is that our people are all right, and that no one else innocent gets hurt. If this is the new regime in Drachma, and they leave us alone, and things settle down now that they're in power, who are we to go in and force the issue?"

"You sound like the Assembly," Cal grumbled, though he couldn't blame Alyse for feeling that way. Stay out of it all if you can; it was an appealing thought, he had to admit. Still, he couldn't see it happening. "They don't realize that we're going to get drawn into this, whether we like it or not."

"You can't know that, Cal."

"I can feel it."

"How's that?"

"In every bullet scar and ache in my body." He stretched his auto-mail leg reflexively, and the joints creaked slightly even though he had oiled them only a couple of days ago. "Experience is telling me we aren't going to be that lucky."

Alyse reached across the table for his hand, and he took hers. "That's an awfully negative attitude."

"It's an awfully negative situation."

"Don't you think you're being a little paranoid about it?"

"No, no I don't."

She sighed. "Just be careful, and make sure you call me the moment you hear anything. The last thing we need is another war with Drachma. I can't stand the idea of worrying about the rest of you."

Cal squeezed her fingers gently. "I know, 'Lyse. I promise, we're doing everything we can to keep this peaceful."


	4. Chapter 4

**December 14th, 1989**

It was already the dead of night when Alexei finally saw the lights of the city of Karmatsk ahead of them, shining like a jewel in the frigid darkness. He was grateful, and a little surprised at making decent time getting there, given the moose disaster, the slick roads, and the intermittent snowfall. It was barely two days since the riot had begun, and they had met with no major resistance on the road, which meant they had not been recognized, or hadn't been worth following. He would take either as a blessing.  
Exhausting was starting to sap him badly. Alexei's body ached all over, and the exposed parts of his face, and even the unexposed parts of his limbs, were biting cold.  
The only spot of warmth on the entire trip—and on his body—was area of shared heat on his back, where the core of Gloria's body was pressed to his, sharing what little warmth they had, and preserving what she could by using him as a windbreak.

Ahead of them, Kyle slowed and brought his bike level with theirs. "When we get into the city, it's almost a straight shot to the historical neighborhood district," he shouted above the wind. "Go until you see a huge old church, then turn left and follow the road. It will wind around to a huge estate, behind stone walls. The Gate is marked with a G."

Alexei nodded, grateful for the reminder, though he remembered those instructions. The Gurina estate itself, the ancestral territory of Gavril Mihalov's mother. If anyplace would offer shelter, that seemed a spot for it. The huge walls around the old city would also be a good deterrent for anyone trying to go after fleeing government officials. At least, Alexei hoped so. That was the purpose of those old fortifications after all. "I've got it," he shouted back a confirmation.

He hadn't counted on the main city gates being closed, but Alexei tried not to panic as they rolled up to the gate house, and two armed guards motioned for them to stop.  
:Identify yourselves. What's your business?: The taller one demanded tensely.

:I am Kyle Bernard,: Kyle spoke first, keeping his hands resting on the bars, :Aide to Amestrian Ambassador Tillers, come for sanctuary per the orders of Gavril Mihalov. With me are Alexei Deviatovski and his fiancé Gloria Fischer, guests at the Embassy.:

Alexei tried not to look nervous, or threatening, as he nodded agreement. If they were not believed, or if no one else had made it here yet, than they might not be let through the gates.

He had never waited a longer fifteen seconds as the two men checked a list.

:You are on the list,: they were told simply. The gates were opened, and they were allowed into the city.

They rolled through streets nearly abandoned, though Alexei did not blame them. It was late, and given the current situation, it seemed unlikely that much of anyone across Drachma was doing anything outside of the necessary, which meant very few people were out this late at night, when they were home worrying about the future, or with their eyes and ears glued to the news in any medium they could get it.

The Gurina Estate was even grander than he had expected as they came around a turn in what was otherwise a neighborhood of large, but not palatial, mansions, and found themselves riding along a huge wall. It took almost two minutes to find the gate, and pass a second inspection to be let inside, where they were directed to park outside a garage that was big enough for at least a dozen vehicles, but was full, and the wide courtyard beyond it was stuffed with cars. That boded well, Alexei thought, for the survival of some portion of the sane part of the government. He could not tell, in the dark, how many of them might be the four that had left the Amestrian Embassy with them two nights before.

An estate employee met them as they dismounted. Kyle went over to speak to him. Alexei did his best not to look as achy as he felt as he stiffly climbed off the motorcycle, and helped Gloria do the same. She couldn't be feeling much better than he was, but she seemed to hide it better. He gave her a quick hug, then reached for their bags.

"I can get mine," Gloria objected.

"I've got it," Alexei insisted. "Let's just get inside where it's warm."

Gloria did not object to that.

"They've got rooms for us," Kyle told them as they were escorted inside. "We're going to be shown those first, so we can clean up."

Alexei privately thought it was more important to know if the others were here, but he was aware that being a civilian, they might not be told everything. It was irritating, but there was nothing to do about it at the moment. Besides, getting cleaned up and warm and dry for the first time in two days sounded really good. He hoped there was also something to eat. They had exhausted Gloria's small store of snacks in her bag by that morning, and pushed through lunch and dinner to make it this quickly. His stomach was an empty cavern.

Despite his exhaustion, he could not help but be impressed by the vast palatial nature of the Gurina estate, which seemed to be as much museum as it was a home, given the centuries of family artifacts and artwork collection that lined the hallways. He soon got lost in the maze of rooms as they were escorted to a corner of the house on what seemed to be the third floor.

:All of the Amestrians are here,: the employee—who Alexei had determined seemed to be a butler, for lack of a better word—gestured down the hall, nodding to doors as they passed. :You have a private sitting and dining area there, that is open for your use at any time. There are two full baths on this floor, marked for gentlemen, and for the ladies. These rooms are for you,: he stopped outside three doors, motioning to the ones he meant.. :I know they are small, but I hope they are to your liking. There is a small repast and drinks in the dining room whenever you wish to partake. I am Pavel. Should you need anything for your rooms, pick up the intercom system in the sitting room, press five, and ask for me.:

:Thank you, Pavel,: Alexei replied gratefully.

Having dispatched those duties, Pavel quickly left them in peace.

"Did you get all that?" Alexei asked Gloria.

She nodded. "Yes, I followed. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take advantage of that bath." Gloria opened the nearest bedroom door, and vanished inside.

Given the hour, Alexei didn't blame her. He nodded at Kyle, then took the next room over. Small, apparently, still meant three times the size of his bedroom in his apartment, with a bed large enough to sleep two or three people, that was probably at least two hundred years old, and a huge chifforobe, which was empty except for a selection of guest items, which included bathing and shaving supplies, and a quilted, white bathrobe and house slippers. Talk about service with style. This made the nicest hotels he had stayed in look like a cheap motel. It was definitely time to check out the bath.

* * *

Gloria barely managed to avoid falling asleep in the women's bath, which turned out to be a large room with multiple old-fashioned claw-footed tubs, though with modern plumbing integrated into them. The toilets were separate, and there were large folding screens between the tubs for privacy. Each screen was painted by a fanciful, colorful scene from Drachman folktales, and she spent almost as much time wondering what the stories were as she did soaking away the aches and cold of the longest, hardest trip of her life to date. Once she had scrubbed off two days of grime and conditioned and soaped everything at least twice, she lay back in the steaming warmth, and rested. Sleep the night before had been a scant few hours in a single cramped motel room. Kyle and Alexei had insisted on sleeping in the floor, leaving her the one bed, which had a terrible, creaky mattress. Somehow, she suspected tonight's bed would be far more comfortable.

Eventually, the water began to cool, and she reluctantly got out of the tub, dried off, and dressed, opting for comfortable and functional, even if she did look underdressed in their present surroundings; warm heavy-knit gray cotton pants and a long-sleeve shirt, under her new thickly-cabled cream-and-rose colored sweater she had just bought a few days before, and thick wool socks. Wearing the provided house slippers—and her engagement ring—she padded her way down the hall to the sitting room, wondering who else she might find.

Despite the fact it was almost midnight, the room held several people, all of whom she recognized from the embassy. The Junior Ambassador, Lita Chalmers, two of the aides, two security officers, and Alexei were all seated around the large dining table that was big enough to hold at least twenty people. The room could have been a very small ballroom, and might have been once, given the elaborate ceiling, and the wall at one end was lined with mirrors. Arched glass windows faced out, and probably showed views of the landscape in daylight. Right now they had large creamy-gold curtains pulled to keep in the warmth, and probably to keep anyone from seeing how full the building was, Gloria supposed.

The light repast looked more like a hearty meal, consisting of a large tureen of sausage-and-cabbage soup, thick loaves of dark rye bread, and slabs of cheese. Alexei already had a plateful in front of him, and was working his way through it with the single-minded determination of a man who had been up too long, and eaten too little. He still paused when she came in, and smiled, motioning for her to join him.

Gloria smiled back, and went to inspect the sideboard of beverages first, to find water, hot tea, coffee, mulled cider, and a large bottle of vodka. She opted for tea, added lemon and a spoonful of honey, and joined Alexei at the table.

Lita Chalmers smiled tiredly across the table at her, sipping from a cup of coffee. "Enjoy the baths?"

"They're incredible!" Gloria agreed as she filled a bowl with soup, then took slices of the bread and the cheese. "I think they're larger than my apartment."

Chalmers chuckled. "There are worse places to use as a backup headquarters. I'm glad you made it safe. We were worried. Those mountain roads are hazardous this time of year."

"It was fine," she replied, wondering how much Alexei had told her so far. "Kyle and Alexei knew what they were doing. All I had to do was hold on."

"Don't sell yourself short," Alexei objected. "Who remembered to pack provisions?"

Well, there was that. Gloria shrugged. She was more concerned with other matters. "Did you have any trouble with your route?" she asked.

Chalmers shook her head. "Not much. Only the weather, and a flat tire three hours from here on our way in. Either the Zinoveks have no real interest in us, or we moved more deliberately and much faster than they anticipated. In either case, it was a long, white ride. We got in just a couple of hours ahead of you."

"What about Ambassador Tillers?" The soup was fragrant and deeply satisfying.

Chalmers frowned. "We haven't heard anything from them. While that's not unusual given we have no reliable form of communication at the moment, they should be here tonight as well, if nothing has gone wrong. They took the most circuitous, least obvious route, to protect the Ambassador."

"Has there been any more news about what's happened in the city?" She and Alexei had heard almost nothing over the past two days.

She quietly ate as Chalmers filled them both in on Valhov's proclamation, and what news they had gotten upon arrival. The riots had lasted all night, but Valhov's men had overpowered the forces still loyal to the original government, imprisoning hundreds. The report was that hundreds were dead in the streets, rioters and military, and the number was quickly climbing towards a thousand, with thousands more wounded. Several blocks of the city were in ruins. The new regime, which had not declared itself anything besides "the rightful Drachman government" had declared closed borders, and military control of the country, and a bunch of other rhetoric that made Gloria's stomach sour.

Still, by the time she finished the summary, Gloria had her soup and most of the bread and cheese. "Who else is here?" she asked as she sopped the last bits of broth up with the rest of the bread.

"The only other fully staffed Embassy in the capitol was the Cretan Embassy," Chalmers explained. "There hasn't been one from Aerugo in decades, and the Kartosians and Drachmans have had a pretty tightly closed border policy for the past thirty years. There is a Xingese Ambassador, but that relationship has been pretty cold since the coup in Xing due to some rumors that the Hashman Syndicate was still getting funds from somewhere in Drachma while they were building their missiles in northern Xing. The administration denies it, and I believe them, but they aren't in charge now. I can't help wondering if the new leadership might not have been in some way involved, but that's conjecture on my part. The few names mentioned on the news before they locked down on broadcasts consisted of several current politicians who had been members of opposing factions to the leading party for their entire careers."

"This is all so insane." A jaw-cracking yawn made Gloria blush. "Sorry, Ma'am."

"It's fine," Chalmers assured her, "We're all exhausted, and call me Lita, seriously. We've got to be practically the same age, and we're both professionals. I need to see if Mihalov is available to speak with me yet. He arrived only half an hour before we did, and I haven't been able to pin him down he's been so busy getting everything organized and under control. Part of the first floor has been turned into a temporary hospital for folks they got out who were wounded but too important to leave to the mercy of Valhov, 'cause he doesn't have any." She drained the last of her coffee and stood. "Get some rest. As soon as we have a handle on things, if you can be useful, I suspect you'll be put to work."

"That's preferable to sitting around doing nothing," Alexei commented.

"We'll do anything we can to help," Gloria agreed. "However things may look, we're not helpless civilians."

Lita smiled. "The fact that you made it here tells me you're more than that." The woman left, followed by both of the security guards, leaving the two aides who were sitting talking quietly on one of the expensive sofas, and Gloria and Alexei at the table.

Gloria finished her tea and looked at Alexei. "I guess the best thing we can do now is get some sleep." Her body—warm, clean, and no longer crying for food or hydration—was certainly ready, but her mind was still racing. That, and she wasn't really ready to be alone yet.

"I'll crash in a little bit." Alexei looked thoughtful as he fiddled with the small, empty glass in his hands. "I've got some things to think through."

Gloria had been so focused on the conversation that she had no idea when he had gone back to the sideboard for a drink. Her fiancé didn't drink often, or much, not more than she did. Given her father's issues, it was something she had always appreciated. "Anything I can help with?" she offered, reaching out to rest one hand soothingly on his arm. She could only imagine what he must be going through. Yes, this was hard on them both, but even if he wasn't a citizen, he was still Drachman in his blood too, and he had family to worry about on this side of the border.

Gratitude shone out of his eyes as he rested one hand on hers. "Maybe tomorrow. Right now I'm not sure it's anything coherent enough to talk through."

Given his usual eloquent speech, if he wasn't sure he could put it into words, it really wasn't time to talk it through. Gloria nodded. "It's all right. I understand." She kissed his cheek, and stood. "I'll see you in the morning."

He caught her hand one last time, and kissed it before letting it go. "It can't come soon enough. Good night, my love."

"Good night."

Gloria left him there with his thoughts, and retreated to her room. She hadn't thought to ask if the others looked like hers, but she supposed they did. She climbed into a bed easily large enough for two, and snuggled deep beneath the thick royal blue quilted comforter, and the several layers beneath. She didn't want to know what it cost to heat a place this large, but she was grateful for the warmth. Her fears about not being able to sleep proved groundless, as she was out almost the moment her head touch the down-stuffed pillows.


	5. Chapter 5

**December 15th, 1989**

"The Embassy burned to the ground, and Valhov's calling it a lamentable accident." It was ludicrous, and nearly as insane as the rest of the things the man—now referring to himself as the High Commander in place of the old title of Chairman—had been saying since he took over. While Franz was willing to believe that there was still cleanup going on in Petrayevka, and that not everyone had given up peaceably, he did not believe most of Valhov's well-spoken vitriol about the government officials that had just been overthrown, or that they were all either dead, with him, or had conceded to his taking command of the government and the military.

"Well it's not like anything else he's said is sensible or sympathetic, so why start now?" Cal quipped.

"I expect we'll receive some kind of demands from him soon enough," Anastas commented. "It seems that either international relations is not his top priority, or he's having more trouble than he wants to let on with taking full control of Petrayevka."

"Drachmans aren't the type to let others run them over," Franz pointed out. Even back into the pre-industrial age, when most of the population was serfs on farms, there had been bloody uprisings. "There's bound to be insurgents hiding throughout the city who still support the legitimate government."

"Is that the stance we're taking now?" Tore asked curiously. "That this new government is illegitimate and that we aren't bound to any of our previous deals with the prior leadership?"

"It's what I'd like to say." Franz sighed. "Unfortunately, several very authoritative members of the Assemble are reserving judgment and don't feel the same. Surely you have some idea of what they're thinking," he commented, prodding the alchemist for information. "Your wife is a member of the Assembly."

"Charisa feels the same way we do, but as much clout as her family may have had, she's only been in the Assembly for a short time compared to a lot of the other members," Tore pointed out. "Right now what she knows matches what we do, that the Assembly is not interested in a physical altercation, and would rather stay out of Drachman politics all together as long as they stay on their side of the border, regardless of how the Drachmans treat their own people."

"Fat old hypocrites," Cal grumbled as he reached for the coffee pot and poured himself another mug, careful not to spill on the latest reports in front of him.

"Which is what we'll be if we don't have a realistic and functional plan ready for dealing with this situation when it comes up," Franz pointed out. "No matter what it turns out to be."

"Which means we need a plan, a backup plan, and two or three backups for our backup plan," Anastas nodded.

"The worst case scenario has the simplest plan," Franz nodded. If it came to invasion, then they mobilized. "Best case, either the old government surfaces and manages a counter strike and takes back Petrayveka before Valhov can really establish any kind of control, or Valhov turns out to be unrealistically reasonable. What we need then, are plans for every possible scenario in between."

"Well, we're not leaving here this week." Cal shook his head.

There was a knock on the door, and a moment later one of General Anastas' aides poked her head in. "Excuse me, Sir. You have that meeting in five minutes."  
Anastas nodded. "Tell them I'll be right there." He stood up reluctantly. "Assemblyman Wilkinson requested to speak with me. Is there anything you'd like me to pass on to him, or try and convince him of, Sir?" he looked at Franz.

Wilkinson was one of the older, more seasoned Assemblymen, and one who had never been military. While Franz had rarely had reason to butt heads with the man on most issues, he could be stubborn. "Feel him out," he suggested. "While I'm sure he's against using force, he might be able to see reason for us taking a neutral stance or a non-negotiating stance with the current Drachman government, at least until we can get our own people back. If we can convince him, that will bring at least three or four more members of the Assembly in line with our way of thinking."

"Very good, Sir. I'll be back."

When he was gone, Franz leaned back in his chair, and contemplated the snacks on the table.

"I can't believe Alyse sent us vegetables," Tore commented, ribbing Cal even as he took a carrot stick from the heaping tray in the middle of Franz' office.

Cal did not look amused. "She seems to think we're in danger of dying from sugar overload up here, like we can't feed ourselves."

Franz considered the amount of sweetener in his coffee, and couldn't find any fault in his wife's cousin's logic. "I think she's more afraid of what we're feeding ourselves." He finally gave up and reached for a sprig of broccoli, though he dipped it liberally in dressing.

Cal shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure she believes me when I say that I haven't been liberally spiking the coffee to keep us going."

Of all of them, Cal definitely looked the worse off, and Franz understood why only too well. It was never easy when his daughter went off into danger, and Trisha was a trained State Alchemist. Gloria, capable as she was, was a journalist, and there was still not one word about her. The only reassuring information that Franz could see, was that no deaths had been reported along with the statement that the Embassy had burned to the ground. In fact, Valhov had made a point of stating that the building appeared to have been deserted prior to the riot that had burned it down. While he made it sound like they had abandoned their posts, or somehow been involved in knowing that there were going to be riots—which he was still claiming were a side-effect of the coup and not a purposeful part of it, which Franz was sure was utter crap—that information told Franz that likely everyone who had been staying in the Embassy had, at least, made it out of the building, and possibly out of the city. Maybe. Rumors and intelligence said that many members of the Russian government were simply missing and likely not all in prison. Those captured kept having their names repeated on news broadcasts as traitors.

"Well, we can't sit around here and wait for Drachma to make all the moves," he finally spoke into the silence that had fallen across the room, broken by the sound of crunching veggies. "Let's take a look at the existing negotiation and try and figure out what changes Valhov is going to demand. If we know what he'll do, we might be able to out maneuver him at the negotiating table, which I would much prefer over a tactical one."

"You may be the least gung-ho President we've ever had," Cal replied, even as he nodded in agreement. "As long as Gloria turns out to be all right, I appreciate it."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then you'll be signing my court martial papers after I murder a few very high ranking Drachman officials."

 **December 16th, 1989**

Gloria could not say that her first two days in Karmatsk were not full ones. Right after breakfast, she and Alexei had been put to work, as promised. They had helped tend wounded downstairs, helped the staff sort out where people were going and making sure everyone had what they needed. Translation was thankfully not a skill that was needed, since everyone working in the Amestrian and Cretan Embassies spoke, and could read and write Drachman. Still, there was plenty to be done with so many people being moved into a building that had been relatively empty for the past several months, and was almost entirely empty most of the year outside of the staff.

It was only by sheer good fortune that Chairman Gurina's wife had already returned to the house to prepare for the winter holidays, and his grown children had mostly not gone into government work, that meant that the feeling of mourning in the house was less than it might have been, even though it was probably worse here, Gloria thought, than anywhere else in Drachma. Gurina had been a leader, but here, he had been family, friend, and employer.

By midday on the first day, Gloria had already learned more about the layout of the house than she thought possible, partially by sketching out simple maps of anywhere she had to go more than once. People were still pouring in, and she could not imagine how Valhov had not figured out where they had gone by following the stream of evacuating government officials. Of course, with the chaos and mass fleeing that night, it had only helped mask their escapes.

She did not know anyone from the Cretan embassy personally, but it turned out that most of them knew her cousin Minxia, at least by reputation, and her husband, Thrakos Argyros. Gloria suspected that the Cretan Government was not unlike the Amestrian in that regard; if you had family at high enough levels, everyone had met everyone at some point, whether it was at work in the office, or at official functions. That was enough of a connection that most of them were willing to talk with her. Out of habit, she wrote down anything that wasn't too personal, including the details of their own experiences with fleeing Petrayevka.

The first day passed quickly, as did most of the second. Gloria was starting to get her internal equilibrium back when the next bad news slammed them like a wave breaking against the rocks.

"Ambassador Tillers is dead," Lita Chalmers announced to the gathering of Amestrians in the sitting room, a dour expression on her face. "The car never made it out of Petrayevka. They were run off the road and everyone in the car was shot."

Gloria clutched the chair next to her as she felt suddenly unsteady.

Beside her, she felt a large hand on her shoulder. "I guess we know where they stand on Amestrian-Drachman relations," he commented in a low growl.

"The other car tried to stop to save them, but they barely got away with their lives." Lita's face was grim and pale. "They're down in the infirmary wing now. I have a meeting in an hour with Gavril Mihalov, the Cretan Ambassador, and the remaining members of the Drachman government who are here to discuss how we wish to proceed, and how to get accurate news to Amestris and Creta about what's happening, and where we are. I'll let you know what we figure out as soon as possible. I know everyone is concerned about letting their families know where they are, and that you're not dead. I appreciate your cooperation and your patience." The room was silent as she left.

Shit, oh shit! Gloria must have groaned out loud, because Alexei gave her a funny look. "I haven't even thought about what my parents must be thinking!" she admitted. "I've been so busy worrying about getting out of the city and making sure everyone else is okay. Mom's probably having a cat over this!"

Alexei chuckled. "Interesting expression."

"Have you seen my mother when she's upset?"

"Thankfully, not yet." Alexei shrugged. "It's nice to know your worries are about people other than yourself though."

"Yes well, now I'm worried that my father will try and destroy half of Drachma just to get us home."

"Now that I can see, especially when they get the news about what Valhov had done to the Ambassador."

Gloria felt sick inside now, with the worry she had caused her family, with the casual brutality which had killed a respected and important man, his guards, and hundreds of people in Petrayevka that had not needed to die. The senselessness of it all left her feeling furious and shaken all at once. "We've got to do something about this," she said when she could think straight again.

Alexei gave her shoulder a squeeze. "And what would you have us do?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll come up with something." To do that, she needed to know exactly what was going on. The meeting Lita had gone to was about communication. Who better to offer suggestions than two people who made their livelihoods collecting and disseminating that very thing? "Follow me."

Alexei gave a small grunt of surprise as she headed for the door, but Gloria heard his familiar, solid tread behind her, and knew he was following.

Gloria only knew where Gavril Mihalov was holding his meetings because she had been told that particular door belonged to Chairman Gurina's private study, and that seemed the likeliest place for him to have set up office. So she marched with purpose down the hall, around the corner, down a flight of stairs, around another corner, down two more hallways and turns and finally came to the large, dark, polished wood door that—for a wonder—was slightly ajar.

"Gloria, what are we—"

She waved at him to shush, and stopped just outside the door to listen.

:—phone lines won't necessarily get us a line to Amestris,: someone male was saying in Drachman. :Not if they run through Petrayevka.:

:We already tried calling out,: Lita Chalmers replied. :There was no connection. The televisions are working, but they're only showing what Valhov wants us to see.:

:We don't have any television equipment anyway,: the male voice continued. :Not that I'd want to give our position away that quickly either. Valhov would be an idiot to not figure out that we're in Karmatsk before too long, but there's no reason to make it easier for him than we have to. I had three of the Chairman's government cars head out in different directions from the city to try and confuse things a bit. He'll know none of them are Uncle Ermolai, since he's dead, but he knows I won't sit by quietly.:

:Your reputation precedes you in that regard.: Gloria recognized the voice of Herme Lastobar, the Cretan Ambassador. :You were regarded as something of a firebrand yourself back in the day.:

:Only in the best ways, I like to think,: the voice which Gloria now presumed belonged to Gavril Mihalov chuckled. Curiosity made her itch to push the door open and get a look at him. She had only recognized the name last night, after Lita had mentioned his first name. During their diplomatic visit up here years ago, her second cousin Trisha and her husband Roy had been caught up in one of Drachma's political tiffs, and while Gloria had been much younger at the time, she had heard the stories more than once, and they had involved a man that Trisha always referred to as Gavril. Reportedly, he had been good looking as well as politically astute, and Roy had been jealous and there had been quite a blow up over the whole thing.

Only the desire to know more kept her from giving away her hiding place just yet.

:So if we can't get a phone message through, or a television broadcast, where does that leave us?: Lita asked.

:There might still be some old radio production equipment around here somewhere,: Gavril Mihalov commented, though he did not sound hopeful. :Uncle Emolai used to give public addresses from here sometimes that way. There are still some radio towers up, but I don't know if they reach through the mountains. It's up to individual towns to keep them functioning.:

That could work. Gloria thought she had seen some old equipment down in one of the storage rooms while she was helping move things out of spare bedrooms that morning.

:If we do that, we may only get one shot at a message out before we are discovered, or they try and trace it,: Lastobar commented. :Whoever speaks, they will be recognized almost at once, and Valhov will assume that where one of us is, the others may be. In any case, where there is one of us, he will expect resistance.:

:So who do you propose should speak then?: Mihalov asked skeptically. :And what message do we send. From what you're saying, I should not speak, not yet, but something must be done to make the Drachman people aware that Valhov is not the new legitimate government. That just because Uncle Ermolai is dead, he does not control the country. They must know that there are enough survivors that he tried to have murdered who will speak against him, and who constitute a government majority, even in exile.

Now. It had to be now. Gloria took a deep breath, then pushed open the door before Alexei could say anything, and strode into the room. :I'll do it.:

Nearly two dozen faces turned to stare at her, and Gloria realized that while she had only heard three people speaking, they were not alone, and three sets of bodyguards were now pointing weapons her direction. She stopped, trying not to look afraid, and holding her arms out at her sides.

:Stand down,: all three representatives barked almost at once, and the Amestrian and Cretan guards—recognizing her from earlier—dropped their weapons and looked relieved, if annoyed. The Drachmans were slightly slower to comply. Mihalov, Lastobar, and Chalmers were seated in chairs in the middle of the room, but sitting around them in whatever furniture could be crammed into the office, were fourteen or fifteen other men and women looking bedraggled, but distinguished still. Gloria realized that they were the rest of the surviving Drachman government members who had fled. Several looked like they should still be in sick beds.

:And just who are you?:

It was Gavril Mihalov who had spoken. He was still, despite having aged since the stories of Trisha's adventure, a handsome man. Despite a hairline that was starting to recede, and a belly that was starting to grow the opposite direction, he had thick hair that had gone mostly a distinguished silver, and lines on his face that denoted he normally smiled more than he was now, and he had sharp eyes.

:Gloria Fischer, Sir.:

That got her a look from a few people who likely connected her to her father if they knew anything about Amestrian military politics, or remembered his name from the Drachman War. Others just looked puzzled.

Mihalov nodded contemplatively. :General Calvin Fischer, the Whitewater Alchemist.:

:Yes. He's my father. I was visiting the city with my fiancé.: She motioned behind her, knowing that Alexei would have followed her in.

Mihalov looked behind her, eyeing Alexei sharply, probably noticing the very classically Drachman features. :And you are?:

:Alexei Deviatovski.: He stepped into view just beside Gloria. :My father's family lives in Gorosk.:

That seemed to be enough for Mihalov, who nodded and turned his piercing gaze back on Gloria. :Why should we risk what is possibly our only chance at untraced communication on you, Miss Fischer?:

An excellent question, but one for which she didn't have to think to find an answer. :Precisely because I am not an ambassador,: she explained. : I'm an Amestrian civilian, caught in a difficult situation. I and my fiancé are also journalists. It wouldn't be at all out of character for us to want to report on the events going on here truthfully to the widest audience possible. It won't matter if the radio signal is being traced if I can write a news broadcast that tells the public what they need to know, while still telling the Amestrian and Cretan governments what they need to get involved.:

:You're ambitious, I'll give you that.: Mihalov's brow creased as he considered her words. :Do you think you can write something that will do what we need by tonight? If we send it out during the evening news broadcasts, there will be so many it will be much harder to trace, and we will also get a much wider listening base.:

That only gave her a couple of hours, but if that was all she had, she would make do. :Yes, Sir. I can do it.:

:Do you think they'll take you seriously?:

:You mean Amestris? My father is in command of every Alchemist in the country and my late cousin's husband is the President of the Military. They'll believe anything I tell them.: Okay so he was her mother's deceased cousin's husband, but the details hardly mattered as close-knit a family as they were.

:That's right. You're related to Heimler aren't you?:

Gloria nodded. :You couldn't ask for a better voice,: she added, trying to sound confident. :No one in Drachma will recognize me, but the moment anyone in Amestris listening to Drachman radio hears it, or anyone sympathetic to the government, there will be calls right to Headquarters.:

:And who in Amestris listens to Drachman radio, I'd like to know,: one of the elder gentlemen along the wall sniffed.

:My entire family,: Alexei commented in all seriousness. :There are dozens of others. You might be surprised at how many Drachman-and-Amestrian families there are on both sides of the border. Even my family in Gorosk has a chance of getting a message to Amestris. They're south of Petrayevka, so they might still have a working phone.:

:I'm for it,: Lita Chalmers weighed in. :The government isn't going to be concerned at first about a single Amestrian civilian trying to send out a call for aid. They won't expect the government to move for one woman.:

:The moment Amestris gets word, even if there aren't Cretans listening, President Heimler will call Pylos,: Gloria said with more confidence. They could always call Thrakos and Minxia, but she knew that he had President Argyros' personal house number as well as his office number. The hour wouldn't matter.

:It's worth a shot.: Lastobar sounded less convinced, but he nodded. :If the signal fails to get anywhere, it won't matter who is talking. If it does, than it doesn't immediately paint a bullseye on our location.:

Gloria nodded, even as the nerves in her stomach sprouted wings. :I'll have it for you to look over in an hour and a half,: she promised, her mind already racing through phrase after phrase of possible wording, looking for the very best and most succinct way to get word out.

:Good, because that's all we have. Meet us back here then.:

After what was a clear dismissal, Gloria turned and walked out of the room. In the hallway, she realized her heart was pounding so hard in her chest she could feel it in her ears.

"I knew you were fearless, but this is a new level of bold, even for you," Alexei commented as he caught up with her, looking both proud and bemused. "If you pull this off, the paper better give you a raise."

"I'll make sure to have a few governments put in a good word for me." Gloria took a long, slow breath, then started walking again, Alexei beside her. "Now I've got to get to work. This is the most important deadline I may ever have." Even with that in mind, she was getting ideas. "This is the biggest scoop we've ever covered. Please tell me you still have film for your camera."

Alexei chuckled. "Despite the number of pictures I have taken of a beautiful woman on our trip, I do still have several rolls left."

"Did you take any the night we left?"

"Nearly half a roll from the windows and lawn of the Embassy."

"Any since you got here?"

"Mostly in the infirmary."

Gloria felt herself calming as she focused on the task ahead. "I knew I could count on you."

* * *

The multi-day long party in Franz's office had gotten old before television was a thing, Cal thought to himself as he slogged back upstairs from his office, having spent the day making sure everything was still in order with the State Alchemists, and that everyone was on high alert and ready to move at a moment's notice should they end up being mobilized. He had not expected today's work to end up involving also going over full reports on the readiness of the non-combat alchemists working in the Labs across the city, though he supposed that made sense, particularly in the medical quarter and in relation to alchemically enhanced military supplies.

His nerves were already wound past the breaking point, and now they were just frayed and raw as he worried about his daughter, and he worried about the possibility of his son being sent into combat barely out of basic training, and the possibility of another war with Drachma now, near the end of his career, when he ought to be thinking about retirement, and spending his days lazing around the house and making love to his hot wife.

Neither of those seemed to be in the cards in the immediate future, however, given he hadn't been home since the first time Franz had insisted on trying to have rotations. He had his hand on the doorknob to the President's office when it sprang open almost into his face.

"Oh, Sorry," Tore gasped, then waved at him furiously. "I was just coming to get you. You have to hear this!"

"What?" Bemused, Cal followed Tore inside.

The room was completely packed with every General from four-star down to one that could cram themselves into the office, along with a handful of Assemblymen, and the office aides, who were mostly crammed into the corners trying to get out of the way of their superiors and still work. Or they would be working, except everyone was silent and hovering around the radio.

"—reporting straight from Drachma with the most current and relevant news on the Petrayevka Occupation."

Cal froze. That was his daughter's voice! Tore grinned at him. "Wait a second and it'll play again. Someone in Drachma recorded this and has been playing it repeatedly. It's all over the airwaves."

Stunned, Cal waited with the others, then it began.

"Good evening listeners. This is Amestrian Correspondent Gloria Fischer, reporting directly to you from outside the city of Petrayevka, with the latest news. As many of you know, on the night of December Twelfth, an anti-government group known as the Zinoveks, headed by former-Ambassador Gerase Valhov, led a violent coup that started with mass murders in the halls of government and spread out into the streets as a divided military and police force struggled to protect their citizens as well as their beliefs. Hundreds were murdered and thousands wounded, as well several neighborhoods burned to the ground. We have learned that this includes the Amestrian and Cretan Embassies. While both complexes were unoccupied, it has also been confirmed that the Amestrian Ambassador, Andrew Tillers, along with two members of military security and one Aide, were run off the road, dragged from their vehicle, and shot in the streets as they tried to flee the oncoming inferno."

"Despite Valhov's insistence to the contrary, less than half of the remaining members of the Drachman ruling body have chosen to acknowledge his leadership. The rest have convened in a safe location outside the city where they have set up a functioning ruling body in absentia, which had a direct impact on the survival of most of the Amestrian and Cretan representatives and their assistants. Without them, evacuation would likely have failed, and the brutal murder of Ambassador Tillers makes it plain where the strings-and-paper regime setting up in Petrayevka stands on international policies. Nephew of deceased Chairman Ermolai Gurina, Gavril Mihalov and the remaining members of the governing body have extended aid and protection to all those with whom they have made alliances and trade treaties, even while in hiding. They hope to continue those alliances even in this difficult time, and have offered their meager, personal comforts at their own expense."

"Once again, this is Gloria Fischer, reporting straight from Drachma with the most current and relevant news on the Petrayevka Occupation."

When it finished that time, soft murmuring filled the room as everyone starting trying to figure out what was obviously meant to be a message. For the first several seconds, all Cal could do was feel an immense sense of relief that, whatever had happened, his daughter was alive and—apparently—well in hiding somewhere outside of the city of Petrayevka.

Somewhere apparently remote, given she did not seem to have heard what they had—that the coup was spreading, and in some of the other cities, people were rising up against the law, siding with Valhov, and causing chaos on a wider spread, if individually smaller scale.

A large map of Drachma had been pinned up on the wall, and there were already several pins stuck in it in what Cal presumed were locations they were guessing Gloria—and so their missing Ambassadorial staff—might be. Right now there were, in his opinion, too many pins, scattered over far too vast of an area. Most of the people in the room were staring at it, and analyzing scribbled notes that, on glancing over a shoulder, Cal could see was hastily written text of the message repeating on the radio. "So, you think we can figure out where they are from?" he asked, trying not to sound too skeptical. If it was a repeated message, they couldn't track a signal back to her specific location.

Franz nodded, adjusting his glasses as he squinted up at the wall. "While it's a recording, she went over the message more than once from her original location, and the wording is identical even though the inflections vary slightly. That tells us that the message was composed. If you had one chance to send out a message, would you waste it?"

"Of course not." Cal shook his head. "I'd be cramming it with as much information as possible."

"Without, of course, giving away your direct location to the enemy if possible." Franz looked down at the paper in his hand. "Your daughter has given us a lot of information in what sounds like an otherwise very general but pointed news report." He tapped the pages with a pencil in his hand. "First off, we now know for certain that Amestrians who should have had diplomatic immunity have died. Whoever did it, that's going to land on Valhov's head. For another, we know that the rest of the Embassy, the Cretan Embassy, and Gurina's nephew are still allied, and if Gloria has information about them, they are probably somewhere in the same place, or close together with consistent contact. The lack of a phone call means they probably do not have a line with a connection that leads down to Amestris. We know the lines in Petrayevka were cut due to other intelligence, so by applying what we know of the Drachman phone lines, we have limited it down to these locations."

Cal wasn't sure he wanted to know how they had gotten a hold of maps of Drachman phone lines. "How do we narrow it down?"

"With much deeper analysis," Anastas commented, the Investigations lead looking intently at a variety of data spread out all over the top of one of the desks. "The fact that Mihalov is Gurina's nephew must be relevant, or it wouldn't have needed mentioning since it's generally common knowledge even outside of Drachma unless you don't pay attention to politics at all." He marked something. "Pair that with the statement of offering their own personal comforts, implies that wherever they are staying is probably a building relevant to Mihalov, Gurina, or one of the surviving members of the Drachman government."

Which explained why there were still so many dots. "So these are all the homes of government officials and representatives?"

Anastas nodded. "This is where things get fuzzy, unless we assume the obvious, which is that the location must apply to Mihalov or Gurina directly. That narrows it down to six locations. If we're wrong in that assumption however, than we will lose too much time."

"What do you think?" Tore asked, and Cal noticed several people were looking at him. Of course, she was his daughter. What did he think she was saying?

"Let me take a look at that." Cal snagged the sheet out of the hands of one of Anastas' Investigations team—or so he surmised now that he knew why they were there— and poured over it a few more times in his head, thinking about the way Gloria had said it. Where had she stressed words? "How long ago do you think they sent this message?"

"Our intelligence says they first picked it up just under two hours ago," Anastas replied.

Cal looked at the map, and considered it. "They have to be somewhere they could have driven by last night." While most of the dots on the map were potentially in that range, several were unreasonably far out. Taking into account winter weather and winding roads, he reached out with a piece of blue chalk and drew a squiggly line that roughly arched through the map, all north of Petrayevka. "So it has to be somewhere in here. Given Gloria's only statement about location was that they are outside of Petrayevka, they're probably still close enough to be getting news from the city. I'd bet my other foot they're not more than two days out. Add to that the fact they're somewhere with radio equipment…."

"More importantly, they're probably somewhere with some level of defense." Franz cut in. "Valhov has to be trying to track them down, and keep tabs on their communications. If he didn't know Gloria was staying at the Embassy, he'll figure it out easily enough. Still, it did add a layer of complexity to the message since there's no way to tie her to them directly without more information. That's probably why the message got out in the first place."

"Do any of those cities have walls?" Tore asked suddenly. "Anyplace they would hide is probably someplace where they can expect to at least attempt to withstand a siege. Defenses would be critical, especially with wounded and without any way to be sure if they're going to have any soldiers on their side. No matter what's going on, a large portion of the military is based in Petrayevka. I can only imagine the chaos at their other bases right now. You wouldn't necessarily know who to trust."

"That is a good point." Anastas stared at the map some more. "Where ever they are, it's likely walled and someplace they would expect a high level of loyalty to the regime, if not personal loyalty."

"That brings us back to the Gurina/Mihalov connection," Tore pointed out.

Anastas nodded. "We're going to need a little more information to be sure, but statistically, it's a high likelihood."

"What are we planning to do with this information once we have a location?" Cal asked the obvious question. "We're not at war with Drachma. Last I checked, the Assembly hadn't even given us permission to sniff the border." Or piss on it. They didn't have permission to make any move that might lead to armed conflict, much as he wanted to go in and get his daughter out. He couldn't imagine negotiations with the new government, which was clearly being officially challenged, leading to any kind of rescue since Valhov did not have his daughter in any kind of custody—protective or otherwise.

"First thing, we try and find a way to communicate back without giving away their position," Franz replied matter-of-factly. "Whether that's an encoded radio or wire message, or something more direct, will depend on our options. We may have to try and sneak an operative in directly in order to establish a line of contact. Drachma's a big country, they can't watch all of it."

"No, but the countryside itself might eat us."

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine," Tore smirked at him.

Cal shrugged. "Just being realistic. You've spent almost as much time in those mountains as I have. Think of all the things we've already found hidden up there, and that's without being chewed on by the local wildlife." Bears, white tigers, snowy leopards; he could think of plenty of animals in Drachma that could end a person's life; even the moose if they got angry enough.

Something occurred to him as he looked around the room. "Don't we have any Drachmans in this city?" he asked suddenly. "I know we have a Drachman Ambassador. Why aren't they here?" He couldn't even remember if the most recent one was male or female, let alone their name. He hadn't bothered to pay much attention, and now he wished he had.

The faces around him did not look encouraging. "Ambassador Fillenko went home for the winter holidays," Franz informed him. "Most of her staff went as well. They didn't have many to begin with. The three people left at the Embassy are minor aides with no authority who are too scared to do anything right now. I spoke with them directly. They don't want to cause problems, but they also don't want to act without orders since they don't have that kind of autonomy. That, and they don't want Valhov to decide to do something to their families. All of them live in Petrayevka when they're in Drachma."

Cal cringed. So much for that idea. "I just thought, if someone who actually knew the place better than we did looked at this map, they would know something we don't." For once, Gloria's boyfriend would have been useful, but he was up in Drachma too, probably doing what Cal wished he were, and keeping Gloria out of trouble. Or at least trying. Cal wasn't sure calling herself out by name and making a target of herself with an unflatteringly honest news report was staying out of trouble.

"Believe me, we're looking," Anastas assured him. "There were quite a few deserters who stayed in Amestris after the war, or who applied to live here afterwards. None of them were eligible to join the military, but some of their children did. We're currently conducting discrete interviews to find out if they or their families know anything and would be willing to help. Of course, they have to understand that once they do, we have to keep them under protective watch until this is all over."

Protective for whom, Cal wondered. They couldn't afford to let anyone double-cross the government. It had happened too many times before. "When do we need to know something?"

"Tomorrow morning." Franz took off his glasses, wiping them with a handkerchief. "The Assembly is holding a full meeting then, and we need to have a proposal for a plan of action."

"And if Valhov calls offering a peaceful settlement?"

Franz glanced through the frames. "He'll still have to answer for Tillers. Whether he claims the people who killed our Ambassador, and everyone else in the car with him, weren't working for him or not; he failed to protect them and is now claiming to be the head of the ruling body. That makes those deaths on his watch, and his fault. He may want to negotiate for a better deal for Drachma, but he's going to have to make reparations for that first, and somehow, I don't think he'll be too keen on that."

He certainly didn't seem like that type of guy. Cal stared at the dots on the map, willing himself to some kind of insight; a hunch, an idea, something that would narrow it down and tell him where his daughter was at this very moment, but nothing came. There just wasn't enough information. "While we're negotiating and trying to get our people out peacefully, he'll be hunting down Mihalov and the rest of the missing government officials. If he finds them, he finds our people, and I don't see that ending well."

"Well, we'll see what happens tomorrow when we vote."

Cal blinked, and turned around. He had entirely forgotten the fact that several members of the Assembly were still in the room. "An alliance with this guy will be a disaster, for Drachma and us. You know that."

"If he solidifies control of the country, we may have no choice," Assemblyman Reynolds replied flatly. "I don't like it any more than you do, General, but we've had to deal with changes in Drachman rule more times than I care to count, and we've never had any say in what kind of a government we were dealing with. If we don't want another war with Drachma on Amestrian soil, we may have no choice but to negotiate with him."

Cal bit his tongue to keep from arguing with the man. It would not help. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he replied with a more diplomatic tone than he had thought himself capable of. He looked back at the map instead. "Is there any way to send them a confirmation that we've heard their report when we don't know exactly where they are?"

"We could try doing what they did," Tore suggested. "Put out a general message and see if the Drachmans who passed theirs along can do the same in the other direction, playing it over the radio in the areas we're targeting. It's a long shot, but it might be the best we've got. If we make it general enough, it's possible Valhov won't catch on that we're sending a message."

"I think we're underestimating this man."

All eyes turned to Franz, whose expression looked grim. "There's a lot of ifs and maybes here. He just successfully pulled off the first stage of a government overthrow that obviously took a long time to organize and gain support for. He was, once, an Ambassador for the very government he's now working to control. There is every likelihood he was part of the planned attacks fifteen years ago while our people were negotiating with him. That tells me he's patient, and cunning, and however much one man cannot keep track of everything going on in any country, let along one as vast as Drachma, he has to have a vast network of intelligence and allies to be where he's sitting right now and have any expectation of consolidating that power. Clearly, he thinks he can do that, which means he has resources we don't know about. I appreciate the optimism in this room, but don't let it lure you into a false sense of security, or to underestimate a very capable foe."

Well that was an anticlimactic and depressing speech. "What do you suggest we do then?" Cal asked with a little more bite than was really acceptable addressing the President of the Military. For once, no one in the room commented on it.

"Oh, we'll send a message," Franz assured him. "We just can't assume that Valhov won't hear it and have his own intelligence team tearing it apart for clues as to what our plans are or where our missing Amestrians are. He doesn't like or trust us. I'd bet on that much."

Anastas seemed to agree. "Whatever we send has to sound reasonably innocuous, and more like a general Amestrian news report with a message that we hope our people are well and that we're sure that everything will be done by the rightful Drachman government to see them home safely. If we keep that vague enough and don't make it clear which side we think is the "rightful" one, than we should be able to keep things neutral. If we're very lucky he will think it means we're going to decide to acknowledge his leadership and negotiate, even if that's not what ends up happening. Worst that happens is we prove to be as underhanded as he thinks we are."

Cal nodded and finally had a moment to go for the coffee pot. "I am absolutely okay with that reputation." Anything that got their people out of Drachma was fine with him. For now, he couldn't wait to call Alyse and let her know that they finally had some good news.

* * *

"That's wonderful, honey! I know it's not much, but I'm sure that means you'll hear more soon. It's a good sign. Yes. Absolutely. I understand. Love you, sweetie. Bbye."

Edward waited for his brother to come over to the dining table where Edward had a collection of random old auto-mail parts he was transmuting into holiday gifts. It was a way to keep busy when his mind craved information and involvement. It irked him that, so far, no one had called them. Well, not to help save the day. Trisha had called the night before to tell him that holiday plans were almost certainly going to be delayed, though she wasn't sure if they would be coming down without her father, or if she and Roy would have to stay in Central in case they were needed for a mission. Given the scattered and disturbing news coming out of Drachma, he couldn't say he hadn't expected it. Damned Drachmans, now they were ruining people's family gatherings! "So Alyse had good news."

Al sat down across from him and picked up his tea cup that he had left sitting at the ringing of the phone. "Good for us, anyway," he nodded. "Gloria is alive, somewhere outside of Petrayevka. Or at least, she was as of earlier today and the information they got apparently implies heavily that they are still safe, and everyone who survived the evacuation of the Embassy is with them."

"Survived."

"Not everyone made it." Al winced. "Alyse didn't know all the details since Cal couldn't tell her anything currently classified. Though who knows how long that can last these days, the news being what it is."

"It certainly gets out faster," Ed agreed as he adjusted the pile in front of him, adding two more pieces of iron. "I'm glad to hear Gloria's all right. Hopefully that means Alexei is too." He had only barely met Gloria's boyfriend, but he liked the guy. It didn't hurt that Ed enjoyed reading the magazine Alexei wrote for, and the man's articles. If they ended up getting married, it would be nice to have someone else in the extended family to discuss subjects with whose brain he hadn't already completely picked over unless what came up was entirely new.

"We hope so, though there's no way to be certain of anything." Al sighed, and sipped his tea. "The Assembly is supposed to meet tomorrow morning to discuss what stance the government is going to take on the situation in Drachma, and how they're going to proceed."

"And here we sit, sipping tea and making trinkets." Ed didn't bother to hide the bitter twist in his words. There were some days he hated being old, even though most of the time he enjoyed not having the world come crawling to his door begging for help whenever things went wrong. "You'd think at least the President might want our input."

"Perhaps your son-in-law already knows what you'd say." Al smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "We've had decades to impart our wisdom on the next two generations. Is it a terrible thing if they actually paid attention and learned the lessons?"

"No," Ed acknowledged, "But that doesn't mean I can't take advantage of being an old ass and grouse about it."

"I seem to recall you've never needed an excuse to be a grouchy ass."

Ed showed considerable restraint, and did not throw a lug nut at his brother's head.


	6. Chapter 6

**December 17th, 1989**

Tore Closson wondered if morning Assembly meetings were designed to make everyone too tired to quarrel, but decided quickly that it seemed unlikely given how grouchy most of the people sitting around him were as the Assembly and collected higher ranking Generals stationed in Central crammed into the main Assembly chamber. Tensions were high, and coffee was running freely. He suspected no one here had slept much over the past several days. While the military had been running ragged, the Assembly had been debating the situation and how the civilian government would be handling things. Franz had been forced to be in on most of those meetings on top of his military duties.  
Yet the President of the Military looked less tired than Tore did, as he sat in his usual chair, beside the Senior Speaker for the Assembly. In full uniform, eyes sharp and focused, Franz looked ready to take on Drachma all by himself. The expression was only slightly less intense than when he had tackled the coup in Xing, going after the Hashman Syndicate and anyone even remotely affiliated with them, after what they had done to Sara.

Tore hadn't slept much the night before either, and so neither had Charisa, who he could see, seated across the room from him in her usual seat. It had been Tore's first full night home since the mess in Drachma erupted, and he had still not gotten home until after dinner. Even Franz' contingency plans had contingency plans. They had left even before Brandon and Camelia had gotten on their respective school buses that morning, knowing their middle son was more than capable of making sure his sister got off to school.

He wasn't even necessarily here to say anything, but to listen, which meant that the first thirty minutes of the meeting were trying to look as involved as he really felt as all of the information that was currently known was read out, with any additional notes that might be new information to the Assembly. None of it was new to Tore, having been on the front lines informationally as most of it was uncovered and confirmed. Gloria's message was recounted, played for the Assembly in its entirety, and the full analysis discussed again, at length.

It was Franz who explained the next part of their plan. "Last night, we sent an encrypted message into Drachma, using the contacts who sent us the original, that won't be able to be figured out by Drachman Intelligence, if they even figure out that it is a message."

"How can we be certain?" One of the older Assembly commented skeptically.

At that, Franz smiled. "Because the only person in Drachma capable of understanding it is General Fischer's daughter."

That got Cal a lot of looks. Sitting next to Tore, he grinned at them and waved a hand casually.

"To anyone else, it will sound like an Amestrian cooking program."

The mutterings around the room were a combination of skepticism and understanding, and finally some acceptance and comments about how Alchemists always had to hide their notes and it was probably something like that.

Finally they reached the end of the briefing, and Tore hoped they would get down to the important part; making decisions. At least, that was what he thought they were going to do.

"There is one more piece of information we need to present before this council," Franz said as he stood again, adjusted his glasses, and picked up a sheet of paper that appeared to be an old telegraph message. "Early this morning, we received this. It is an official message from Gerase Valhov himself."

The murmurs, and even the sound of shifting chairs, went immediately silent.

"To the President of the Amestrian Military do I, Gerase Valhov, Supreme Commander of Drachma send this direction; that Amestris will not involve itself in Drachma's internal matters of State. Also be informed that as of this moment, all previous treaties between Drachma and Amestris are dissolved due to their inequities and will be rewritten to provide Drachma with a more appropriate share of all profits made in economic deals between our two countries. While the accidental death of your Ambassador is a regrettable loss, you are hereby informed that any actions on the part of your people within our borders consisting of acts of sedition will be considered an act of war. If found unharmed, and if they take no offensive action, they will be safely and swiftly removed from the country with all due haste. The details of our new arrangements will be sent to you at a later date."

"Well, that's abrupt… and hostile," Cal commented under his breath.

The silence stretched out for several moments, until everyone erupted at once, shouting and clamoring to be heard.

"Order! Order please!" The Senior Speaker banged a gavel on the wooden table. "One at a time. Butler." He gestured at one Assemblyman.

"This man is clearly insane! Surely you can't expect us to accept these terms?"

Franz had already retaken his seat. "Of course not, Mr. Butler. We have no intention of accepting anything this man offers without proper negotiations, and those will not begin for some time, if ever. This coup is far from complete, despite reports of fighting breaking out in every town in Drachma that has a military outpost."

Another hand went up, and the Speaker gestured permission to speak. "Presuming this is the new state of things, would we be better off trying to appease him? After all, he controls a large portion of the Drachman military, even if it does not turn out to be the full one. Perhaps accepting his trade terms would help settle things."  
Once again things devolved into debate.

"It's impossible," someone gasped in exasperation. "We're effectively dealing with two Drachmas. Which one do we side with: the one who lost and may get us all killed, or the winner to keep him from doing to us what he did to his own country?"

Tore felt anger bubble up inside him. They didn't know. They'd never met the man, but Tore had. He had worked with him for weeks, never knowing what the man was planning. Valhov was almost certainly behind the group that had kidnapped Roy. The worst part was, it was almost like they had forgotten the lesson they learned in the last war. Before he knew it he was on his feet. The Speaker looked at him, and so did Franz, and the room got quiet as Tore stood there, waiting. Finally, Franz nodded.

"If I may address the Assembly," Tore spoke into the microphone in front of him, though his voice carried well enough without it. "I was there when we made our existing trade agreement with the government of Drachma. We also agreed in that treaty to aid them if called upon to do so in the future. That government no longer exists. However, most of the people that were part of it, or were loyal to the ideals we both espouse... are the ones currently being destroyed by an uprising that has taken over their government, and permitting riots in every town and city in the country. Even if we choose to stay out of this, it puts us back where we were almost a hundred years ago... with a hostile Drachma on the Northern Border, and only Briggs as our line of defense. We all remember how well that has worked out for us in the past."

Uncomfortable shuffles told him they did, in fact. "This time, they're killing their own people. These aren't acts of a government working for the good of the people. Whether we agree with them or not, I'd rather deal with the side that's trying to protect lives. That...and our Embassy members are being protected by the side that's holed up somewhere trying to salvage what they can so they can regain control of their country. It's not about which government is going to give us a better deal, or leave us alone… it's about which government is doing what's right for its citizens. I don't know about you, but I've enjoyed living my life without being shot at by an invading army, and knowing that, no matter what was going on in the North, we weren't getting reports of a government slaughtering innocent people in the streets. No economic policy, no false sense of security, nothing is worth that. Thank you." With that, he sat down. He could feel the weight of all eyes on him, but also their thoughtful expressions.

Glancing across the room, he saw Charisa, smiling proudly at him. She caught his eye and winked. At least one member of the Assembly clearly agreed with him; even if it was his wife.

It certainly seemed to help tip the weights in the conversation, and the final vote. In the end, a decision had been reached, and Tore felt it was one he could live with.

"So it's decided then," Franz said, finally. "Amestris will get involved as far as it must to rescue our own people, and protect the remaining portion of the government with whom we made our alliances. Given the death of Ermolai Gurina, it is clear that the faction aligned with us, is that which is attempting to set-up a government in exile. We will locate them, and we will see to their safety, whether or not they are able to retake control of Drachma. This is not a war of conquest, or liberation, but a rescue mission. To that effect, I will be informing Mr. Valhov that we will be removing our people from the country ourselves, and he had better stay out of our way."

* * *

:What in the world is this?: Gavril Mihalov stared at the text of the message that had been painstakingly copied down by the communications expert they had set to listening to all radio frequencies and collecting information. :Why would the Amestrians be broad-blasting a cooking program across the radio?:

Sitting in the office of Ermolai Gurina, Gloria had been pulled away from dinner by Lita Chalmers, who had insisted she had also been sent for, since this whole radio message plan had been her idea. Now, with just the three of them, Mihalov's communication specialist, and the former head of Drachman Intelligence—Eskail Kallich—she was wondering what she had gotten herself into.

Mihalov handed her the sheet of paper with the text which was in Amestrian, with Drachman notes scribbled in translation alongside it. She ignored the translation for the moment as she tried to make sense of it. Almost at once, she understood what kind of message they had been given, even if she couldn't yet decode it. :It's in code,: she explained, smiling. :Alchemists almost never leave their notes lying around in plain language. It's an old habit meant to protect secrets, and thwart nosy people. This isn't a regular recipe. It's the recipe for my Great-grandma Gracia's apple pie.:

Kallich looked very interested in this news, at least the part of alchemists writing in code. :So what does it mean, then? Can you decode it.:

:I can try.: Gloria's mind was racing furiously. Clearly they had sent this particular message because they knew that if it got to her, it would get to the rest of the Amestrians, and possibly Mihalov. If they wanted to reach out to the government, this was the most subtle way they could have picked. Nothing about it screamed secret message, except for the fact that Gloria had made this particular recipe with her great-grandmother dozens of times before her passing. :The first thing I can tell you for certain, is this means they got our message, because they sent us back something that, out of the Amestrians here, only I would recognize. This means the military received our message and knows something of our situation, even if they can't figure out where we are. The fact that they sent it out over a wide area either means that they don't know where we are, or they are trying to keep Valhov from figuring out where we are by not pinpointing our location.: At least, that's what she thought it meant. Kallich's nod of agreement told her that his expert opinion agreed with hers, so far.

Gloria continued as she looked over it again. :Even if this isn't' a word by word encryption, which I doubt since this recipe already existed, there's probably a lot more in here. For example, there are a couple of changes that are not entirely correct, but are probably deliberate. If they sent this, that means my father knows we are here, and that means he got the recipe from my Mom or Grandma, so it shouldn't be wrong.:

:What are the changes?: Kallich asked.

:To start off, they've changed the cook temperature and the time.: Gloria reached out for the pencil and paper sitting beside her on a small drink stand. :This ought to be forty-five minutes at three-hundred-and-fifty degrees, but this says it should be at twelve-hundred-sixteen degrees, which is crazy.:

:We use a different measurement system,: Mihalov commented, :Than you do. It is an old one that is not used often anymore, but the numbers go much higher. This would not seem out of place, but what does it mean?:

:Twelve, Sixteen….. Could they mean the sixteenth of this month?: Gloria suggested, though she really wasn't sure. :That was the day we sent out our message. Could this be their way of confirming when they received it? That would tell us how long it took for them to get it, and an idea of how long it took for word from them to get back to us.: It was logical, at least, and the kind of thing her family would do.

:Have you considered working in intelligence?: Kallich asked.

Gloria smiled. :I'm an investigative journalist.:

:Ah. Of course you would be.:

She went back to the task, looking for other subtle changes. :It doesn't seem to be too much more than an acknowledgment and way to prove we can pass communication for now,: she finally sighed in exasperation. :There's an additional ingredient, which is Drachman wildflower honey. I think that means they know that we're probably with you. Since it's a sweet ingredient, I want to say that means they're not siding with Valhov. Which I wouldn't have expected them to do anyway,: she added. :Still, it definitely sounds like something my father and President Heimler would have put together, so that seems like a safe assumption. There's nothing here about action, though let it cool before eating has been changed to eat it while it's hot. Maybe they don't want us to delay?:

:It's possible.: Kallich had his own marked up copy of the message. :Though if we move too hastily, we run the risk of attracting attention to our position while we are vulnerable.:

:We're going to have to announce our position eventually,: Mihalov commented thoughtfully. :We have to make a public statement soon, to say that we are still here, and despite what Valhov says, we are still the rightful government, working at distance to protect the people of Drachma, both the working classes and the remain elite, neither of which will actually see any good come of this new regime.: He stood, pacing. :The least we can do is the pick the moment. It will tell Amestris where we are. Then, we just have to hope we can hold out against a siege of this city until they can get here.:

:And how do you expect to do that?: Kallich asked. :There is no military garrison here. You have only the local police force, and the security that came with you and the other government officials. All told, you have maybe a squad of men, and a city full of civilians, to hold off however much of the army Valhov chooses to throw our direction.:

:Very simple.: Mihalov stood, walking around behind his Uncle's desk and pouring himself a drink from the decanter on the corner. :When we declare our survival, and our intention to continue ruling the country, we make a declaration to those who still side with us to continue the fight. As long as he has political and literal fires of violence popping up where-ever we have a military station, outpost, or police force, Valhov will not be able to send any kind of consolidated front at us. That, and if Amestris is coming for their people, he won't be able to ignore the army on the southern border.:

:Still, how hard can it be to take a city and a mansion?:

:Ah, but this is my family's city,: Mihalov grinned broadly, saluting Kallich with his glass. :The walls of Karmatsk have withstood multiple invasions.:

:By barbarians with sticks, and warriors with spears and arrows, not the Drachman military with tanks and guns and bombs.:

That caught Gloria's attention as she—and Lita Chalmers—stared at the two Drachman men. :Bombs. You mean missiles?: Gloria couldn't help blurting out. :Like the ones they destroyed in Xing?: She remembered the stories. Her father, Franz Heimler, Tore Closson, and so many others she knew had been there, and she had heard dozens of tales afterwards. What she remembered most though, was overhearing Grandpa Alphonse and Great-Uncle Edward talking about things she was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to overhear, and so she had never written them down or breathed a word. Not that she had understood much of it at the time.

:Perhaps not so well made, and there should not be, but there probably are,: Kallich admitted, looking thoughtful. :Valhov was all for a stronger arms program, for defensive purposes he always said, though who would ever dare to invade Drachma? It's been centuries, and Xing has little interest in us. It looks like perhaps he was planning on setting events in motion that might make someone want to invade Drachma, and he knew it.:

:Creta and Amestris both have to be furious,: Lita nodded. :Given the good terms our governments currently have, they may try something jointly, or incursions from two directions to split a front. We can speak with the Cretans and see if they agree with my assessment, but surely their government will want them rescued as well.:

:Uncle Will might lean on them for us,: Gloria mused aloud. :If only because Mom would ask.:

Kallich was looking at her oddly. :Who is this uncle and what kind of sway could he have with Creta?:

Gloria chuckled. So the intelligence officer did not know everything. :My cousin Minxia is married to Thrakos Argyros. Come to think of it, Aunt Ren might be able to get them some Xingese support too. After all, they still owe Amestris for helping stop their last coup.:

:You need to look outside our borders more often, Kallich,: Mihalov chuckled. :Our lovely guest has quite a set of family connections. This "Aunt Ren" is Renxiang Xian, sister to the now-retired Xingese Emperor, and so Aunt to the current one.:

Kallich shook his head. :I am not sure if this makes you useful or a liability.:

Gloria bristled, but forced herself to remain calm. :Since I'm the one who got us confirmation that Amestris got our message, I would like to presume the former.:

:Back to the matter at hand.: Mihalov resumed his seat, sipping his drink as he did so. :We need a plan for better communication with Amestris, and possibly Creta. We have communication so far as long as it does not try to extend into or past Petrayevka by phone. The radio option has merit but is not efficient, nor do we have time or an encryption we can use that Valhov won't be able to figure out. Much as I am impressed with the inventiveness of this recipe message, it is not going to work for us long term. We need more consistent communications. Eventually, they have to repair the phone lines out of Petrayevka, or Valhov will also have no efficient means of communication. I am beginning to think perhaps the ones cut were very specific as opposed to the entire network. Once we declare ourselves openly, we will need to stir up a strong feeling of nationalism towards the rightful Drachman government.: He looked at Gloria. :There is where you come in, again, it seems. You are a journalist, as is your fiancé. Between the two of you, I suspect you can be very convincing. How would you like the most exclusive on-the-ground reporting job I could possibly offer you?:  
As if that hadn't already been her plan, or at least he hope. Gloria managed to keep cool and smile calmly as she nodded. :I think we can give you exactly what you need.:

:Excellent.: Mihalov looked more than pleased; almost giddy at the prospect. :I am certain we can find television equipment somewhere in the city. Being able to see what we are doing will be much more convincing than just audio.:

They wanted them on television? Gloria wasn't about to object, but it was a lot more than she had expected. It also meant that they could no longer claim to be just Amestrians in trouble, or even really neutral parties. Most of Drachma would know their faces, their voices. Likely some of Amestris and Creta too. Under any other circumstances, it was a career making dream come true. Now, it still was, but only if they survived. :We should try and send at least one more covert message to Amestris,: she suggested. :They need to have some idea of what we are about to do. We still can't be sure that they won't decide to sit and wait and see what Valhov does. If they do, than our chances are very slim.:

:We can certainly try,: Mihalov agreed easily. :Now that we know one can get through, perhaps intelligence on both sides will be able to pick up on and send messages through faster.:

:But what do we sent?: Lita asked. :Another news report would only sound similar to what we have already sent.:

It was problematic. Gloria couldn't think of anything that would get the message across, except the announcement from Mihalov that was going to set everything in motion. :I don't know,: she finally had to admit.

Mihalov did not seem bothered. :It's fine. It will be a couple of days before we can make an official announcement. By then, perhaps we will know more about what our allies intend to do.:

Gloria sincerely hoped so. In the meantime, she needed to do everything she could to prepare for the storm to come.

* * *

 _Author's Note 1/1/2019: Happy New Year! Starting it off with a new chapter posted on time! This year will be a year of lots of story. I hope you enjoy!_


	7. Chapter 7

**December 20th, 1989**

Cal had to admit that this was the fastest he had ever seen the Amestrian military gear up for anything. Three days, and if the Assembly and President said jump, they would be over the border and plowing up through Drachman territory. Cal's feelings were a bit conflicted. On one hand, he would do anything to retrieve his daughter. On the other, he had never desired to get into another prolonged conflict with Drachma. Especially not with so many of his family members involved.

For the past three days, they had tried to find a way to inform the Amestrian Ambassadorial team and Gavril Mihalov of their impending plan. The message they had sent had been little more than an acknowledgement, and they had not yet gotten any kind of useful reply. Cal was fairly certain that today's televised speech was going to change all that.

Franz had stayed up all night in his office writing it, and hadn't even gone home. Cal knew, because he had stayed up all night with him while he wrote it. There wasn't enough coffee in the world to make him feel alert right now, but his nerves were doing well enough.

Either Valhov was going to realize that Amestris was not to be trifled with, or he was going to make a very big mistake, and accept a challenge he could not meet. Not because Drachma did not have a massive military, but because right now his forces were split and fighting each other. Attempting any kind of counter-strike against Amestris would be difficult.

Now, Cal sat with Tore, a handful of Assemblymen, and others in the Press Room where the President regularly gave his televised speeches. The Assembly also used the room often so it was familiar even though Cal rarely came in. The large Amestrian flag hanging behind the podium definitely made a clear statement.

Any seat not taking by a government officer or official was crammed with Press, and the ambassadors of any country with whom Amestris was currently allied—minus Drachma.

Franz stood before the podium in full dress uniform, looking particularly serious and distinguished, and somehow not as exhausted as Cal felt.

* * *

Franz was too keyed up to yawn, even though he was exhausted. There would be time for sleep later. Right now it was time to make a very bold political statement for which he would be remembered, whether the coming days proved him to be a tactical genius, or a political fool. There were television cameras and radio microphones ready to send out this message by every means necessary not only to Amestris, but arrangements had been made for it to broadcast on stations in Creta, Aerugo, Kartos, and Xing. Less legal arrangements had been made to get the broadcast across the border by a small station in very southern Drachma that sat practically on Brigg's doorstep as it currently held the civilian border crossing posts for both nations. From there it would, he hoped, reach Petrayevka, and where-ever Mihalov and the Ambassadors were in hiding. If

Valhov wasn't screening everything being broadcast in Amestris, he was a fool.

"Are we ready to go live?" he asked the stage manager in charge of the room, whom he knew only as Ralph.

Ralph nodded. "We are ready at your signal, Sir. Everything is working."

"Excellent." Franz took a few long, slow breaths to steady himself and focus his thoughts. He had his notes in front of him, but after the night he had spent crafting it, he felt he could probably have given the entire thing from memory.

 _If you're watching, Belle, I could use a little luck and otherworldly blessing right now_. If guardian angels had ever existed, he was certain his was his wife. If he'd ever had another one, she probably would have beat it up and taken it's place. Even now, that thought was comforting.

Finally everyone was in place, and it was just a matter of waiting till it was time to start, which was the time he had purposefully advertised the day before, so that as many people as possible would be tuned in. He nodded to Ralph, who was keeping count, and then gave everyone the go cue.

Franz looked out over the crowd in front of him, straight at the camera at the back of the room. "When I was eighteen, I thought it was always clear who the enemy is. It was whoever was in front of me, that I was told to combat against, because they were doing something wrong and it was our job to set things right. In my first engagement, I fought against what I now know to be a very small contingent of Xingese soldiers, led by a man who had been driven insane, not by power, but by grief. Still, he was mad. He captured and tortured men and women, and attacked our borders. It was only after that experience that I applied for Officer Candidacy. Amestris has a long history of going where we may or may not be wanted, to try and put right what we see as what is wrong. We went into Aerugo when the government was overthrown, to support the government with which we had been allies. We also went into Aerugo as allies, years later, to support them when natural disaster wrought havoc within their borders. We had fought with Xing, but most recently were invited in by the displaced Imperial Family, to assist in restoring order and protect the Xingese people. This also allowed us to put to rest an international danger, the Hashman Syndicate."

"It hasn't been since the days of Fuhrer King Bradley that we have been in conflict with Creta, for which I am definitely grateful. We are beginning to have relations with Kartos and, up until now, we have never had reason to take military into Drachma. In Nineteen-Sixty-Three, the regime at the time chose to invade Amestris, with an eye towards occupation and control. The war lasted almost two years, but in the end, we retained our independence and sent them back across the border. Since then, we have worked hard to build a relationship of mutual trust and benefit between our two nations. Since then, the Drachman government has been amenable to these dealings."

"Last week, Chairman Gurina and many members of the Drachman government were brutally murdered in a coup that left Petrayevka in flames and killed hundreds of people. Fighting has broken out across the country between loyalists to the legitimate government of Drachma, and the insurgent faction behind the overthrow. There is chaos, and many innocent Drachman lives have been lost, or irrevocably changed. Many of us have personally experienced that pain, and would not wish it on another living being. The man currently nominally in charge of this mess, is Gerase Valhov, who once was an Ambassador with whom we negotiated our current peace arrangement. No longer does he wish to negotiate. He has sent ultimatums and demands, rescinded our agreements, and men under his command killed Ambassador Tillers and several members of our Embassy staff. The rest of our Embassy, and some civilians, have fled the city and are hiding somewhere in the Drachman countryside. Intelligence tells us that they are with the Cretan Ambassador and their staff, and under the protection of Gavril Mihalov, nephew of the deceased Chairman, and many of the remaining members of the Drachman government who oppose this coup. They do not intend to lie down like dogs and let this happen, but it will be some time before an outcome is determined. Valhov has refused assistance in the safe extraction of our people from this mess. While, otherwise, it might be my inclination to stay out of this particular foreign affair, given Drachma's often conflicted past, I cannot stand by while our own people's lives are threatened."

"So the message I am sending is this: Gerase Valhov, the Amestrian government does not acknowledge you as the head of the Drachman government, while there is still a large portion of the government that stands against you. You were not elected Chairman by Drachman policy, and you should be considered the enemy of your own state. Therefore, we do not consider valid any of your demands upon Amestris or regarding our existing trade agreements. Those agreements were made with a government that is now in exile, but still exists. You do not alone have the authority to undo them. We do not approve of the harm you have already incurred on Drachman citizens."

"That said, we are not interested in war with you. We are sending an escort of men into your country to find and bring our own people out. If you do not interfere with them, there need not be any further bloodshed on either side. If you attempt to refuse us the right to contact and provide safe transport for our own citizens, than you will face resistance."

"To Gavril Mihalov, and all other members of the governing body of Drachma, on both sides, I beg you to consider the actions you take carefully, so that you do as little damage to the people of your country as you can. Amestris chooses to consider Drachma an ally still, for as long as a portion of the government with which we made those deals remains. We will hold them in good faith."

"To Amestris' other allies, I have extended to you the invitation to listen and to speak on your own behalf regarding this issue. Amestris does not require, nor expect, that you should get involved in what may be a muddy endeavor. Creta has already pledged its support to us, due to the matter of their own Ambassador and Embassy staff being trapped in the same precarious position as our own people. As always, assistance in any form is appreciated, but we respect your autonomy in this matter, as it does not directly concern you in the same way. Whatever decision you make will be respected."

"As I said earlier, when I was eighteen, I thought the enemy was the person who stood in front of me. Now, I am much older, and somewhat wiser, than I was then." That elicited a few well-timed chuckles throughout the room. "The enemy is fear. The enemy is hatred. The enemy is absolutes. Where there is fear. Where there is hate. Where there is no compromise, there can only be destruction. But we are better than that. We are all better than that. I do not blame the Drachman people for what has happened here, only those responsible and those who have actively sought to injure or kill. There is nothing wrong with feeling passionately about and working towards our ideals, as long as they do not actively hurt others. However, it is also not always Amestris' place to step in and pretend that our way is the only way. That is why this is a mission of peace, and rescue. It is now up to you, Valhov, to be reasonable as well."

When he stopped, there were several seconds of silence before the room filled with respectful applause. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ralph give him a thumbs up, and Franz relaxed, just slightly. He had thought long and hard about whether or not to allow questions at this meeting, and if so whether or not to allow that portion to continue to be broadcast. In the end, he waited for the clapping to die down before he spoke again. "At this time, I am afraid I will not be taking questions from the press. I wish to allow Gerase Valhov the opportunity to consider his actions and respond before any direct command decisions about how we proceed are determined." Or at least, divulged. He already had plans, and the plans had plans. The only real question was which one they would be using. "Thank you." With that he turned, and left the stage.

* * *

:Well, I see we have our answer,: Mihalov commented. He, the rest of the remaining government, the Cretan Ambassador, Lita Chalmers, and Gloria and Alexei were once more crammed into Gurina's study. It was just before dinner, but they had been hastily summoned an hour before to watch a re-showing of what had clearly been a live broadcast that morning, sent out from Central across much of the continent. Mihalov's intelligence network was apparently still working—and some had figured out where he must be hiding, which meant they weren't entirely incompetent—because they had recorded it and sent it on, with a brief audio beforehand identifying themselves only as loyal Drachmans.

Gloria had felt a stir of patriotism and relief watching Franz Heimler declare support for the people who had rescued them from likely death in Petrayevka, and also the news that there would be a rescue party, and that nearly every country on the continent knew what was going on. At least, anyone with relations to Amestris. The public decree was going to make things interesting for Valhov. Particularly with the infighting that was still sweeping across the country like a storm. Once Mihalov made his speech, well, things were going to explode. At least, that was the plan.

That also seemed to be where Mihalov's mind was going. He turned to Gloria and Alexei. :You found the film equipment?:

Alexei nodded. :The local station was more than willing to loan what they had for as long as it takes to put things right. It all works and we have it set up in the formal sitting room next to that huge painting of your uncle.:

Gloria smiled. It had been the obvious choice for a location. Gurina looked particularly beneficent in the image. :The room also offers the most flexible and best lighting situation. If we're going to broadcast you, than you need to come off right visually.:

Mihalov nodded. :Good. We'll do it this evening, right after the evening news.: As of the day before, they had also started getting the news broadcasts out of Petrayevka again, though they were almost entirely pro-Valhov drivel. Gloria had been expecting the propaganda. One of the first things Valhov would have done would have been to take control of the media. Waiting until after tonight's news would give the moments for last moment additions or changes, but people would still be watching when the signal came across their stations. Apparently the local broadcasters also knew the best way to cut in over the other stations' signals. :Does anyone have anything else they wish to add to the statement as we have prepared it?:

The rest of the politicians shook their heads. They had spent most of the day working with Mihalov on what would be said tonight, and Gloria had only seen portions. She and Alexei would both be reporting this evening. Herself in Amestrian, and him in Drachman. Mihalov would do most of the talking, but the program would seem planned and professional.

:Go, eat, and meet me in the sitting room by the end of the hour, so that we will be ready to go when the news is over. I have ordered a television wheeled into that room so we can watch the broadcast together.:

Wise, in case they needed to change anything, and it meant everyone who needed to be there would already be present.

Once they were dismissed, Gloria walked with Alexei, Lita, and the Amestrian security guard who followed Lita Chalmers everywhere, back to the Amestrian wing, where dinner had already been served up at the dining tables. At least they were eating well, for refugees, though Gloria had noticed that most of the food was solid, hearty, and easily cooked in bulk; traditional family foods and not what one might have expected from their palatial surroundings. Honestly, she preferred it that way. Tonight's meal included a stew of beef and late-season winter vegetables, mostly various squashes, but also turnips, and onions. A rich, dark bread and a spreadable white cheese served as sides. Gloria took small portions of both. The closer air time came, the less hungry she was, her nerves keyed up for what would be not only her first live broadcast as a journalist, but an international one which would affect the state of at least one country, probably several, at that.

Alexei either felt no nerves, or was eating them, because he took his usual hearty helping.

Apparently Lita Chalmers was thinking along similar lines. She shook her head as she looked at Alexei's plate, then smiled at Gloria. "I don't know about you, but I'm nervous as hell right now. I've been working so hard on what I'm going to say tonight I have it memorized, but all it takes is one wrench in the plans on tonight's news and I'll have to come up with something else."

"You'll be fine," Gloria assured her. "This is my first time reporting live, but I've been on stage plenty of times, and given dozens of speeches in high school and in college. I keep telling myself this isn't any different really, just another performance. As long as I focus on doing my job, it will be fine."

"I have too," Lita replied. "You're right. It just feels different. Tillers did all the official speaking for our post. Without direction from Central, I don't know what they want me to do. The best I can do is go off of what was said in this morning's speech, and hope that what I say matches what they want."

That was really all any of them could hope for, but somehow, reassuring Lita helped Gloria get a hold of her own tension, and she finished her food, before changing into the outfit she had chosen. Despite the fact it should have seemed unimportant, Gloria wanted to present exactly the right image. Her auburn hair was pulled back and up in a simple, professional tail, but she had washed it earlier so it looked as fresh and smooth as she could get it, save for the curls in the back. She had decided against trying to make it look too done. They were refugees who were soon to be under siege after all. She went with a simple outfit; her grey knit slacks and a pale blue collared blouse with a v-line neck. A simple silver necklace that fell across her collarbones would catch light, but not be gaudy or distracting. She went for simple, non-distracting earrings as well, small silver dangles shaped like snowflakes, but bound by a circle. Her make-up was plain and neutral. She knew she would need it under the lighting they had rigged for this, but it went with the look she was trying to convey. Of course, the ring remained on her finger.

Alexei gave her an appreciative look when he met her in the hallway. "You are the most elegant refugee I have ever seen." He kissed her cheek with a brief peck.

"Whereas you look exactly like yourself," Gloria pointed out, though she supposed that was the point. It was Alexei, who had inherited most of his father's distinctive Drachman features, wearing one of his favorite sweaters, which was a deep, solid green, broken up only by a couple of stripes of white-and-green geometric patterning. "Are we ready?"

Alexei nodded. "We are just waiting for our Ambassador."

"Fortunately for you, I'm a quick dresser." They turned to find Lita already standing in the hallway in her formal suit, adorned simply and not unlike Gloria's choice of jewelry, except in gold, matching the Ambassador's pin on the lapel of the dark blue suit-jacket. The Ambassadorial uniform was, for all intents and purposes, a civilian suit version of Amestrian dress uniform.

The formal sitting room in the Gurina mansion was another room that Gloria felt could have once been a ballroom, but she had come to feel that way about most of the public rooms in the house after the past few days. They were all gilded and carved and decorated and full of magnificent artwork, from large portraits to rich, woven tapestries, and vases that could have been in museums. She sincerely hoped it wouldn't all be destroyed before this mess was over. She knew Alexei felt the same—he had already voiced interest in doing an article on the Gurina family collection for his magazine before they left, whether or not the house survived, and he had taken dozens of pictures.

This particular sitting room was painted in soft pastels of green and blue and rose, reminiscent of spring, and hung with gold-and-pastel patterned heavy drapes that could be pulled across the expansive windows in the winter to hold in the heat. They were closed now. A tall, darkly upholstered green chair sat just away from one wall, on which a large portrait of the late Ermolai Gurina now hung. It was a younger but recognizable face, and he wore the trappings of state associated with the Chairman of Drachma. An elegantly carved but otherwise unadorned dark wooden table had been set beside the chair. It held only a glass of water.

The rest of the room was organized chaos as the local newscasters had set up their equipment and were making final adjustments to lights and focus to make sure everything was just right. Mihalov was sitting in the chair, in a dignified but otherwise unremarkable suit that was maroon, but only a shade lighter than black. The rest of the politicians there, in case they were needed, were sitting in chairs around the television set where the news would shortly begin.

The local director came over and nodded approvingly at all three outfits. :Good. Those will be fine with the lighting,: he said. :We will begin with you standing here,: he gestured to another wall and lighting a few feet away, where there was a large wall with a tapestry of a traditional Drachman hunting scene. The colors were mostly greens and browns and natural tones. :Then we will cut to him, and back and forth. This will be simpler than having people get up and sit down.:

Gloria listened with the others regarding basic instructions, and then there were a few minutes of standing in place while lights were adjusted. After that, it was time for the news. Thankfully, it turned out to be nothing that was likely to make them change their plans: rebellion continued to spread, though it was now a matter of those who had followed the government disapproving of the coup and wanting the government back as it was. Even if they hadn't liked it, they didn't want to follow Valhov. This was a matter of subtext, given the statements being made to sound as if Valhov was the rightful ruler of Drachma.

What they were waiting for came at the end, when it was reported—without live interview—that Commander Valhov was disappointed in Amestris' ability to see reason and compromise and that—given the current unrest—he could not permit any kind of rescue party or promise their safety should they cross the border. Any military incursion at all, however peaceful, would be considered an act of aggression.

:That's it then,: Mihalov spoke up as the newscast ended. :It seems conflict is inevitable, but for now it will work in our favor. Valhov will learn that holding Petrayevka does not mean he holds power over the entire country.:

From that moment until she found herself standing in front of the camera, holding a microphone, everything was a flurry of activity. This was it, and she was going to own it! A couple of deep breaths, and it was go time.

"Good evening, this is Gloria Fischer, North City Star reporter, coming to you from Drachma tonight with an exclusive message from Gavril Mihalov, nephew of the late Chairman, Ermolai Gurina, and temporarily appointed Chairman of Drachma by the members of the Drachman government currently in exile which, to date, outnumber those remaining in Petrayevka with the necessary two-thirds majority to make that a legal appointment." She paused, as Alexei introduced himself and repeated the same in Drachman. "For the past several days, this government-in-exile has been gathering support, provisions, and personnel with an eye towards continuing to keep the country running, even in these dark and trouble times. They have also, much to our appreciation, taken into their protecting those surviving members of the Amestrian and Cretan Embassies, who are here with us tonight, and whose Ambassadors also have words for you." Once again she waited for Alexei to translate. "Without further ado, I present to you, Chairman Gavril Mihalov."

The director signaled when they were clear, and turned ninety degrees to his left, putting him in position to watch Mihalov, who was waiting for that moment. :Good evening to the people of Drachma, and to the people and governments of other countries who may be watching us tonight. The first thing I wish to do tonight, is apologize; to those of you whose borders may now be insecure, and to my people, the Drachman people, for our failure to keep this uprising from occurring in the first place. With me here are twenty-three other elected government members, who fled for their lives just a few short nights ago, when Valhov's men stormed a late session voting on raising assistance funds for elderly and chronically ill military veterans, and slaughtered dozens of your representatives, and the Chairman of your country. I sit before you tonight, not because it is my ambition to succeed my uncle, but because duty and care for my people compels me to do what I can to ensure your safety and restore the stability of this nation. I am your servant, and we here will not rest until Drachma's government is restored, and the fighting has ceased.:

:You will have the opportunity to see each of your living representatives in turn before this broadcast is over, but I want you to know that we here have not relinquished power to Gerase Valhov, nor do we consider his claims to run the government justified. He may hold the buildings, but he does not hold the reins. While it is clear that change is needed, a peaceable compromise cannot be reached while people are being oppressed and murdered in the streets. The slaughter so far is unconscionable. Valhov has set families and colleagues and comrades in arms against each other. I particularly entreat those of you in the armed forces, and in our police forces, to work together, instead of tearing apart all you have worked together for so long to build. Do not believe the propaganda and lies you are being fed."

:We, here, will protect and continue to represent all of the Drachman people, not those who may agree with us: those of all backgrounds, regardless of bloodline, regardless of views. Working man or old noble family, we are all citizens of Drachma, and each life is worth the same. It is also important to acknowledge, that not every victim here has been Drachman. The Amestrian Ambassador, while attempting to keep out of our internal affairs, was bodily pulled from a vehicle and murdered in the streets, along with his aides. Many of our families have married across borders and nationalities. In closing the borders, they are torn from families, both here, and those Drachmans currently abroad who cannot come home again while this lasts. Communications were purposefully blocked, phone lines cut, and now the news reports censored to tell only part of the story. Valhov is not the only one who has intelligence. Drachman Intelligence is still working for us. General Kallich is here, with us, tonight. You will hear from him as well, with a report on the full extent of the devastation across Drachma as we know it.:

:I do not wish for you to feel that we have anything to hide from you. While we are in exile, we are not in hiding. Drachma's government still has allies among those nations with whom we had peaceable treaties. Earlier today, the Amestrian President of the Military, Franz Heimler, gave a stirring speech to that effect, for which we are truly grateful. Your words of support are a comfort, and your coming actions, whatever you choose, will not be forgotten. Your people are safe with us here, in Karmatsk; the ancestral home of the Gurina family.: He gestured up and slightly behind him with one hand, without looking backwards. :My Uncle's home, that in which my mother also grew up, has been a bastion of ideas of equality, progressive thought, and fair rule, for longer than those ideas existed in the Drachman government, or the popular culture. It has been centuries since serfs worked the lands of Karmatsk. The Gurina's paid fair wages, and took care of the people working here in the north, often under the harshest of conditions. This city has withstood for centuries the sieges of nomads and barbarians, and the wars of the various kingdoms that eventually came to make up our great country.:

:So we are not hiding. We are here, to protect and aid our people however we can. What we need now, is the continued support of the Drachman people, who elected us to do these jobs, and who will support us now in creating a safe Drachma for our children, and one in which this kind of civil war is a thing of the past.:


	8. Chapter 8

**December 23rd, 1989**

The holidays were effectively cancelled, or dramatically moved up on very short notice, for many of the families in Central, due to the sudden and immediate mobilization of units from Central, North City, and Briggs. It wasn't every military family, but many more were impacted anyway, as friends or relatives were piled on trains and shipped to Briggs, where they would be crossing the border into Drachma without any idea of what kind of force would be coming against them.

Not that there wasn't intelligence working on that. President Heimler and Investigations were digging night and day for intelligence out of Drachma that might give them more information about what they would be facing given the chaotic state of the country at present.

For some, it was a familiar scramble, for others they faced the odd and unusual feeling of staying behind. Heimler had meant what he said. This was a well-armed rescue mission. They were anticipating being attacked, but they were not the aggressors. The forward troops, if they encountered no resistance, would be the only ones who had any reason to advance into Drachma, and their goal was clear: to reach Karmatsk—which meant bypassing Petrayevka, and several hundred miles of Drachman winter—and retrieve the Amestrian and Cretan Embassy Staff, as well as any other Amestrian citizens encountered along the way.

The night before he left, Cal Fischer sat on the couch in his living room, with his arm around his wife's shoulders, distractedly pretending to watch the movie on the television in front of them. Normally, he liked this movie. It was a holiday classic. Tonight, however, he couldn't keep his mind from running endlessly over battle plans and tactics the State Alchemists might need on this mission, or any of the civilians. He still had trouble comprehending why Franz had felt that Cal should be in charge of the forward troops, aside from the fact that among them would be over two dozen alchemists. Cal envied Tore, who would not be going, because one of them had to stay in Central and run the rest of the State Alchemist's program and make sure other missions kept happening.

Still, being able to go after Gloria himself had a certain sense of relief, that finally something was being done, and it was something he had control over. He had also been given the opportunity to hand-pick his Alchemists, which he had done with much careful consideration, even though it meant making some hard choices. Ted Elric's entire team was coming. With their set of skills he had a particular mission in mind for them. Roy Mustang was coming as well; because if he needed something up there in that land of freeze-your-balls-off cold and ice, it was a flame alchemist, and the military only had one active one of those. He had specifically not chosen Trisha, for a variety of reasons. For one, her duties would be critically important here. For another, her skills would not be as much use in the kind of combat they would be facing. For a third, he refused to send both her and Roy into this, knowing that it was possible one or both of them might not come back. He was not going to be responsible for orphaning their children. While there were only a very few married pairs of State Alchemists, Roy had made sure not to send both of any of them. If he needed them, he chose one. In some cases that was easier, because not all of them were combat officers; some were research lab alchemists and he did not need those here.

Cal wished he had been given more say over the infantry and machinery units assigned to this task, but he hadn't. Otherwise, Charlie's unit would never have been assigned; but there it was. His son would be going into Drachma as an engineer, and Cal could only hope that they didn't have to do any heavy fighting. Not that he believed it for a moment. He hadn't trusted Drachma as a whole yet in his life, and so far he had no reason to do so now, especially with this Valhov guy in charge. Tore had told him everything he remembered about meeting him in Drachma during political negotiations. That information, added to everything else they were learning, had convinced Cal that combat was inevitable. The one thing he would not do, was start it. He would keep this a peace mission until the very last moment, but he would not let his men be killed if the Drachmans started anything.

"You're really not into this tonight are you?" Alyse asked, though her expression said well enough that she knew he was distracted.

Cal sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm trying, I really am."

"It's all right." Alyse turned at a better angle to see him and kissed his cheek. "Could I keep your attention if we slipped upstairs instead? It's going to be a while before we see each other again."

He couldn't keep from smiling. Cal returned the kiss, but not on the cheek. "If anything can distract me, it's you." No matter how many years went by, or how long they were together, Alyse was the most beautiful, gracious, talented person he had ever known, and the one who could best help him forget any problems—well, when their relationship hadn't been the problem. "I just have a really bad feeling about this mission."

"You've said that before," Alyse reminded him gently.

"I've gotten shot or blown up every time I've been anywhere, let alone dealing with Drachma, who tried to blow my innards across the earth and left me to die."

Alyse winced, and Cal felt mildly guilty for bringing up that particular memory. He knew how much she had worried about him, how she had stuck by his side when he was unconscious and dying, before they had pulled him back from the very brink of death.

"You could make this the one that breaks the trend," Alyse suggested.

"I will do my best," he promised, wishing it were that easy to wash off the sense of foreboding. "If this can be done without a war, I am all for it. I'm tired of killing, and I'm really tired of people trying to kill me."

"Well I'm not trying to kill you. I'm trying to lure you to bed," Alyse reminded him, taking his hands and tugging as she stood. "Unless you're going to turn me down, at which point I'm going to wonder who this doppelganger of my husband is."

"No, no, I'm coming," Cal assured her as he followed her onto his feet. It was all the holiday he was going to get, after all. Tomorrow he would be heading north, and on the twenty-fifth, crossing the border into Drachma very openly. He only hoped he would not regret it too much later.

 **December 24th, 1989**

It was the most anticlimactic yuletide season Edward could remember since he was a boy. The house was festive and decorated to the hilt, and almost no one was there to enjoy it. Or at least, many of the people who should have been were not. Tomorrow Aldon and Cassie, Reichart and Deanna and their children, and Urey and Raina and their family, would all be over for the holiday, but tonight, the house itself was almost empty. Not that Ed did not completely understand why, but every family member coming from Central had cancelled. So plans had changed. Tomorrow they would have their traditional holiday, and then the next day, Alphonse, Elicia, Edward, and Winry would all be on a train north to visit the rest of the family still in country who could not come to them. It was far easier for them to pick up and go visit for a few days or weeks.  
That did not mean that tonight was not far too quiet, and not as festive as it should have been. Winry and Elicia had made a delicious evening dinner of easy but delicious finger foods, and the four of them had wrapped gifts, and done some baking for the following day, and taken the two large pups for a romp in the lightly falling snow. Then they had come in, and watched old movies, but eventually, Ed and Al could not resist switching over to the news broadcasts. Even tonight, there was news of the military rescue operation, and more confirmed reports coming out of Drachma.

Even rich dark hot chocolate full of whipped cream and marshmallows could not make that news festive. "It's been a long time since I've seen news this dour," he commented during one commercial break.

"More than the coup in Xing, or in Aerugo?" Al asked curiously, sipping from his cup of hot Xing green tea. "Drachma has had more regime changes in our lifetime than any other three countries combined."

"And they've given us the most trouble, as a whole, and personally," Ed reminded him, though he needn't have. Al's eyes immediately flicked to Elicia, who was in the kitchen still with Winry, working on what looked like fancy rolled cookies with fruit and nuts, duly ignoring the depressing news. "Aerugo would never have invaded Amestris directly, and Xing wouldn't either—Ling Yao aside. Drachma tried it when we were teens. They tried it in our twenties. They made trouble at that border on and off for decades and were a mess inside. They let alchemists pull off all sorts of crazy shit in those mountains, even when they hated them. Then they invaded and despite our long-standing and experienced military, we barely pushed them back and out of our country. If Mustang hadn't been there…." Ed still did not know how they would have defeated the Drachmans at the end, if Roy Mustang, the original Flame, had not sacrificed his life in the most brilliant pyrotechnic alchemical display Ed had ever seen.

"And now this. It doesn't seem fair to the Drachman people, does it?" Al shook his head. "Always caught in the middle, getting run over not only by the violence, but economically, socially. I know Amestris has its problems—all countries do—but the Drachmans seem to always get the rawest deal. I'm glad the Assembly voted to support the previous government as legitimate. That was the only real and most stable alliance we ever really had with them."

"Yet this is how things are turning out." Ed had briefly toyed with the idea of stealing into Drachma, slipping up to Petrayevka, and just putting a dirt spike through Valhov's back when he wasn't looking, but he had a feeling that he not only would be caught, but also promptly executed and that would make Winry cry—and probably curse his name—and he just couldn't do that. "I hope this Mihalov guy can turn things around and do what he's saying. I'd much rather we go back to dealing with a Drachma that responds to reason and makes compromises."

"You mean you believe him?" Al seemed surprised. "I didn't think you trusted anyone in the Drachman government."

Ed took a long, slow sip of cocoa. "I believe Gloria. She's got Cal's sense for deception and Alyse's brains, and she would not report anything she had not verified herself or believed to be true. So if she is siding with him, and directly crediting him with the survival of family and most of our Embassy, than I am at least going to give him the benefit of the doubt, because I trust Gloria not to be duped or wrong about someone, particularly not in a situation as important as this one."

"This is her element," Al nodded proudly. "She's out in the thick of things, digging up information and reporting it to millions of people all over the continent. This is not only her passion, but she's doing something no one else is in a position to do, and it's going to be critical not only to our success, but also Mihalov's. They've been smart, using the media the way they have. Their timing on that defiant speech the other day, not even a day after Franz's, was a brilliant move."

That, Ed could agree with. If nothing else, the remaining Drachman leaders were no slouches. The fact that this coup had managed to catch them by surprise still baffled him. Of course, having helped Roy Mustang pull a coup in Amestris himself, he supposed he shouldn't be too surprised. Those in power always seemed to be shocked when those below them, or their allies, turned out to have two faces. "Let's hope they keep pulling brilliant moves out of where-ever they are getting them. This is going to be a balancing act as to who can be enough of a distraction to keep the heat off of whom." Timing was going to be everything.

 **December 25th, 1989**

Gloria was not at all expecting what awaited her in the sitting room that morning as she went in to breakfast. As she was up early, there was almost no one else in the room when she arrived. "When did this happen?" she stared at what was clearly a very nicely decorated yule-season tree, twinkling with lights and decorated lavishly in bows of silk and velvet in rose and burgundy, and shining silver and gold ornaments and colorful enameled ones that—she wouldn't put it past the Gurina family—might be made of actual precious metals. The mantle of the fireplace was also alive with boughs of greenery and glittering decorations, over a roaring fire. Breakfast looked and smelled particularly festive.

Alexei was waiting for her, holding a steaming cup of what smelled like a mix of chocolate and cinnamon. He grinned. "Apparently the staff decided that, no matter the circumstances, the winter holidays deserve celebrating."

"I didn't realize anyone outside of our family used yule trees," Gloria admitted. Her Grandpa and Great-Uncle had started the tradition in their family, as far as she knew. While many Amestrians decorated for the winter season, very few used the trees.

"Drachmans have been decorating for the winter season using trees and other winter greenery for centuries," Alexei explained. "You'll notice that the tree is potted, with the roots intact. They'll probably plant them on the grounds in a week or so."

"That's what we do too. It's nice to know the tree didn't die for this." Gloria slid an arm easily around his waist as she leaned against him. Alexei lifted his arm so it could settle around her shoulders in a comfortable, loose hug. "It's so considerate. Did they sleep at all last night?"

"Unlikely," he chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised if there's a similar set up downstairs in the Cretan sitting room, and in the family room, and in whichever wing the rest of the Drachman government is staying in. They take up far more space than we do. There are probably set ups like this all over the house. What impresses me most is they even wrapped gifts."

It hadn't even occurred to Gloria to be surprised by the gifts, because part of her mind just always associated the holiday morning with wrapped presents. They had blended in as part of the decoration. "What on earth do you think is in those packages?"

"Probably very practical items we will all appreciate that have been lying around as extra items in closets," he suggested. "Though not every present here is from them."  
Gloria looked up at him, and his knowing smile. "Well, you already gave me the big gift," she teased, holding up her left hand, where the ring glinted in the firelight. "What else did you get me?" Of course, since she had come knowing they would be spending the holidays up here as well, she had also brought gifts for Alexei.

"You will see after we partake of this amazing breakfast." With that, he turned around to face them both towards the table, and Gloria took the time to actually catalog the food in front of her: sticky rolls slathered in icing, small sausages in a thick, sweet brown sauce, fluffy white egg-tarts with spinach and mushrooms in them, braided loaves of warm fresh bread, a huge tureen of steaming buckwheat porridge that smelled like honey and almonds, and slices of fresh oranges and pears. Gloria could only imagine how expensive it was to get fresh produce in the dead of winter in Drachma. They probably grew them in hot-houses this far north. Nothing would ship fast enough. To drink, there was the chocolate cinnamon drink, along with fresh hot coffee, tea, and cranberry juice.

"This is amazing. We are going to have to find a way to thank the house staff," she said as she reached for a plate. There wasn't going to be room for everything—on the plate or in her stomach—so she was going to have to choose wisely, or take very small portions of everything. In the end, she opted for small portions of just about everything, foregoing the sausages, and cutting one of the huge sticky rolls in half, before sitting down with Alexei at the end of the table, shaking her head in wonder as she looked as his plate. "I have no idea how you eat like that." She kept her tone light, but she was a little worried. Sure, they were technically on vacation, but while he was a tall, broad-built man to begin with, he normally didn't eat quite so much at home, or at least, not often. What it said to her was he was worried, but he wasn't saying anything.  
Maybe he hadn't noticed, or perhaps he didn't care one way or the other, but he shrugged. "How often do we get fed like this?" he asked, before he smiled more reassuringly.

"Relax. I'm okay. Besides, I have a feeling in the next few weeks we're going to be hoping this town's food supply holds out."

He had a point. The first thing Valhov had sworn to do after the pronouncement was take Mihalov and his "rebels" (that was a laugh) into custody, starving them out with a siege if necessary. It might well come to that. If they cut the city off from any supplies, they didn't actually have to fire a shot at them to make things very uncomfortable.

"There's a cheerful thought this morning."

Alexei reached out a hand across the table to cup hers. "We're going to be fine. Rescue's already on its way, and you know the Amestrian military; they'll make quite a show of it on the way here. This is probably the safest place we could be in Drachma."

"Do you really believe that?" Gloria could think of a few places that were probably safer, like any town close enough to the border to manage an illegal crossing. It wasn't like anyone in Amestris would have stopped them!

"I do. Valhov can't actually kill everyone up here and get away with it. He would alienate anyone who is still on the fence about supporting his new regime. He might even alienate some of the people currently supporting him now. There are a lot of innocent people up here too, and we've caused quite a stir lately."

That was putting it mildly. "It's almost like the world's craziest improvisational acting job," she commented, sipping her cup of hot cinnamon chocolate. "We can only guess based on what we hear what will actually be happening down south, or how they will go about it, and they can only take away from the speeches what they can infer from Mihalov's end, and then there's Valhov trying to make sense of both of them, and he can't be sure that both sides aren't regularly communicating and have some grand master plan in the works."

"If that's so, than it is one deserving of an award." Alexei grinned broadly. "Do you think your cousin Ian would be too upset if the governments of both countries stole his award?"

"If it meant ending this war, I don't think so." Gloria cut up a piece of her fluffy white egg-tart carefully. "Though I think they would be in different categories, so unless one of these speeches qualifies for Leading Man status, he's still a sure-win for this year." Even if the nominations weren't out, she would be stunned if Ian did not get one for Golden Warrior. "Do you think they've even watched any of his movies up here?" she mused aloud.

"This is Drachma." Alexei shrugged. "They do tend to have a thing for tall blonds up here."

"Well, that's one thing we have in common."

* * *

"I don't like it."

Cal—who was staring at the border, standing at the front of the line of trucks and other military vehicles ready to go through—had to agree with that assessment.  
There was almost nothing to see. The actual border between Drachma and Amestris was actually a couple of miles north of Briggs, in a little town that consisted of one small street of businesses designed to cater to short-term travelers, and the customs offices for both sides, which shared a building to save time and effort. The primary train line ran through the town as well, since this was their primary control point of entry for both countries. The rest of the border, entirely blocked by the thick, heavy Briggs mountain chain, was generally considered almost entirely impassable, and so was guarded, but rarely a concern.

Now, looking at the road barricades, barely visible in the thick fog that glowed like white ghosts in the diffuse sunlight of late morning, the place looked like an abandoned, forlorn harbinger of dooms day.

The first part of the journey was certainly meant to be the easiest. It would take weeks to march all the way to Petrayevka and beyond, so they had arranged for a train, mostly full of cargo and flat cars to hold their vehicles, and a few passenger cars. The plan was to get as far north as Valhov would let them before he interfered with the railways. From there, they would have to road it, and that would slow them down.

He looked at the man just behind him, who had spoken. It was one of the newer junior-most officers, and his heart sank a little as he recognized the dark-haired younger man. It was Dare Closson. "You think this is bad?" he asked, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt at this moment. "This is as good as it gets. Now let's get everything loaded and on that train."

Around him, a chorus of yes-sirs turned into barked orders and movement. It was time to get moving.

Cal wondered when the last time was anyone was crazy enough to lead soldiers into Drachma, for any reason. Years of studying military history had not given him that information. Amestris always stopped at the border.

He was really getting tired of making history.

* * *

If there was one thing they could count on, it was for the new Valhov administration to report anything almost as soon as it happened in a light that made them look like the heroes. So, Gloria was not at all surprised when the mid-day reports, even in the middle of a holiday, spoke of the Amestrian incursion on the border having begun, and how he was already mobilizing loyal Drachmans to put them in their place.

Given the bit of intelligence they had gotten on who was leading this peaceful rescue force, Gloria was certain that any attempts to put them in their place would end up badly for the Drachmans. Badly, and very cold and wet.

She also wondered how many troops they were really sending after the Amestrians. The Drachman army was vast, though not as large as it had been during the years when they invaded. Right now, torn and turning in on itself as well, how many men could Valhov really pull to muster? Enough to make trouble, certainly, and enough to keep Karmatsk under siege, reportedly.

Not that there was much good in worrying about it. So Gloria had spent most of the day enjoying what little holiday they had been gifted with. Alexei had been very pleased with her gift of three new specialized lenses for his camera, which she knew he had been wanting, but hadn't bought for himself, having just bought a couple of others. They were pricy things. He had gotten her the most beautiful journal-style notebook she had ever seen, in deep rich, traditional Drachman tapestry designs on the cover, and a book of side-by-side translated Drachman folk tales. Given he had also paid for almost everything they had done in Petrayevka that had been his idea—like the ballet tickets—she felt she had gotten more than her fair share, but he insisted that it was more than enough. "We'll have our entire lives together. I'm not worried about even," he pointed out, kissing her in the privacy of her room later, during their little private gift exchange.

The presents under the tree turned out to be far more personal—and more expensive—than Gloria had anticipated as unexpected fugitive houseguests. Apparently, however, the lady of the house considered them to be far more important than that. The signature on the little card on each gift was signed _with gratitude, Nichola G._ which was the first name of Mrs. Gurina, whom Gloria had barely seen except in passing during their time in her home.

Alexei opened his box first, to discover a small book, wrapped in a thick, black wool scarf. The book was old and worn, and appeared to be a journal. Alexei opened it curiously, and Gloria watched as his eyes widened and he pulled out and read a small folded note tucked in the book.

"What is it?" Gloria finally asked, running out of patience.

"This… is Ermolai Gurina's personal journal," Alexei finally replied, with a voice softly reverent. "Not any journal. This is the war, all of it. He was an officer then." For a long moment, Alexei didn't look like he was going to finish his statement. "He was my father's commanding officer."

The depth of his reaction suddenly made perfect sense. "What does it say?"

"Well I haven't read the whole thing—"

"I meant the note."

"It's from Mrs. Gurina." Alexei held it up a little better in the light. "She says she wanted someone to have it who would appreciate it, and who might do some good with it. She says "tell the truth."" He stared down at the book. "I think… she wants me to write about his experiences in the war."

"You could always go ask her," Gloria suggested. The woman did live in the house after all. "But that's incredible! Maybe he talks about your father in there."

"It's possible." Alexei looked deeply contemplative for several moments, before he nodded to her. "You should open yours. Then we can go thank her together."  
Gloria opened her box to find another wad of fabric wrapped around something, and a note. Unwrapping it carefully, she realized that the fabric was actually a very finely-woven shawl, one that would not be out of place worn over a nice dress at a dinner party to keep warm. She suspected Drachman noblewomen may have started the trend, but she had seen them around in stores—though none so nice as this one. It made sense if you were going to wear beautiful modern ballgowns, that you would have something to keep your upper half warm in the depth of Drachman winter, while still keeping with fashion. This one, which also appeared to be wool, was still somehow so light and sheer as to be almost translucent, in a pale, pure white, with white-on-white vine embroidery, and worked over with the tiniest gold, red, and green beads Gloria had ever seen on the fringe and in the center of the flowers. They were wrapped around what appeared to be a very simple—well, if it could be called simple—small, diamond tiara. She wasn't sure how long she stared, but eventually Gloria realized her mouth had fallen open. Alexei looked impressed. "Well looks like someone just made you Imperial Princess."

"Very funny." It was very easily the most beautiful and expensive piece of jewelry Gloria had ever held. She opened Mrs. Gurina's note. It said very simply, _I hear congratulations are due on your recent engagement. He seems an excellent match for you. I hope you do not think these gifts too formal. Traditionally they are given from a mother to a daughter on her engagement, to be worn for her wedding. We never had children, and I have no nieces, but you are a strong and vibrant young woman, and I have been very impressed and grateful for your work you have done here. I believe my husband would have agreed that you are the right young woman to have these. If you do not choose to wear them, I will not be offended, but I will sleep well knowing that they may bless a relationship as long in love and as equal a partnership as I shared with my husband. Thank you._

"Are you okay?"

There were tears on her cheeks, she realized. "Yes, I'm fine. Just very moved." Gloria fingered the circlet, watching what had to be thousands of dollars in diamonds sparkle as they caught the light. "We should find out from the staff when she is available. I need to thank her for this in person."

"As do I." Alexei clearly had questions he wanted to ask. They were burning away behind his eyes. "Are you going to wear them?" he asked curiously. Clearly he had recognized them for traditional Drachman bridal wear before she had.

Gloria fingered the shawl, which she now realized was large enough to be worn not only over the shoulders, but up over the head in place of a veil. Carefully, she lifted it up over her head, letting it fall. "What do you think?"

"I think you look like a winter angel."

"Then yes, I think I will."


	9. Chapter 9

**December 28th, 1989**

The last day of the year started with a bang, and not the kind anyone really wanted to hear. Cal was awake, and drinking coffee in the one observation car the train offered, when it stopped suddenly, sending people and coffee falling everywhere. Stifling the string of curses rattling in his head, he hurried forward to find out what was going on.  
As it turned out, what was going on was that the Drachmans had made their first real move: the bridge across a twenty-foot ravine had just been blown out, and the train had managed to stop just barely in the nick of time to avoid careening right off the edge.

He had to give them an excellent sense of timing, or at least a couple of decent demolitions experts. Still, saying Cal was not pleased would have been putting it mildly. They were still days south of Petrayevka. They had to get successfully around that city in order to get to Karmatsk. While it was very helpful to know exactly where they were heading, that did not make strategizing around unknown numbers of hostile Drachman forces any easier.

Especially given he was working with far fewer men than a person of his rank would traditionally lead. Of course, alchemists made those numbers a bit fuzzy, but keeping this force down to what had turned out to be a couple thousand men, had been the best they could do for keeping up the image that this was a peaceful mission—even if they expected it to not end that way.

The next highest officers were the three Colonels from Briggs, North City, and Central who were each in direct command of the men from those posts. None of them were Alchemists, and none of them were men Cal had worked intimately with at any point in his career. They were all at least twenty years younger than he was. It was odd to be out on a mission with a couple thousand people, and to feel so weirdly alone.

He hadn't even seen Charlie more than in passing, or Dare. Outside of the highest ranking infantry officers, he had mostly spoken to the State Alchemists since from them he could at least expect some level of conversation and familiarity.

Standing and watching as everything was hastily unloaded from the train, and re-loaded into vehicles, Cal considered their next move. He fully expected to receive orders sometime soon from Headquarters telling him that Valhov was throwing more ultimatums around, if he hadn't already outright declared this an act of open war.  
It seemed it was time to put another portion of their plan into action. So while everything was shifting and being hauled and repacked, he summoned Ted Elric and the rest of his team into one of the berths for a quick meeting. "This is it," he said without preamble. "From here, we part ways, and I want you to find whatever the fastest route you can manage is, and get up to Karmatsk. We can only presume that Valhov is going to try and cut them off. It's only a matter of time before we cannot stay in contact. They need support, and we need regular contacts. The portable radio towers we brought are in the back of the truck we're giving you. As long as you set them up at the right intervals, hidden from general view, you should be good to go. I want you all to slip away now while there's a lot of chaos. It will be harder for you to be noticed. Any questions?" The details of the plan had been gone over more than once on the train ride getting this far, so he did not expect many. This particular team was a combination of members from the last team Elric had been on, and a couple of newer alchemists with appropriate skills and, for the first time in a while, Ted was in charge.  
Proteus and the other four alchemists shook their heads. "We promise to leave you a few if it comes down to fighting before you get there," Ted promised with a cocky grin.

"Though we will do our best to keep it from coming to blows," he amended, as if he were reading Cal's thoughts. Ted had pulled some crazy stunts in the past—generally without authorization—but he had matured a lot over the past several years. Cal was hoping his combination of experience and Elric-crazy would be useful in this particular situation. That, and Ted had enough conversational Drachman to not be painfully obviously a foreigner driving through the Drachman countryside.

"Hopefully they'll let this peace mission stay one," Cal agreed. "Don't worry about saving me anything if the world goes crosswise though. I expect us to run into military force long before we get anywhere near Karmatsk."

Ted nodded. "Yes, Sir. We'll change and head out, General. I'll report in at the scheduled times using the rotating frequencies we discussed."

"Good. See you in Karmatsk."

* * *

As they loaded up in the large Drachman farm truck with a carrier lid over the back, dressed in Drachman civvies, Ted Elric tried not to feel too nervous. In truth, he wasn't much afraid of what might happen up here; he was just too keyed up with trying to anticipate the possibilities, and more than a little excited at the fact that this was his team and his mission.

The only alchemist on the team who had more experienced than he did was Felix Tringham. The other three members of the five-alchemist squad were younger than him, but some of the best new recruits from the past couple of years. Rex Neil, the Glacier Alchemist, was one of the very small number of alchemists specializing in water, and his preferred states were liquid and solid forms, though he could do some interesting and explosive things with hydrogen and oxygen. He wasn't as good as Whitewater, but Ted suspected that might change with time. Fortunately, Neil's temper was as slow to rise as a Glacier as well. His cool head was a good addition to the group.

Vastillia Kratz—the Pulse Alchemist, who went by Vasti—was the alchemical medical specialist on the team. Aside from being of immediate use to their team, she would also be incredibly helpful if there were injured or sick trapped in Karmatsk—or anywhere else they ran into people in severe need of help along the way. On top of her State Alchemist training—where she had spent a lot of time working directly with the Shock Alchemist to learn control over electricity—she had spent two years after medical school assisting at the Elric Clinic, learning real medical alchemy. Ted felt a lot better about their chances with someone Uncle Ethan and Ren had trained. With her electrical knowledge, she was also their ace in the hole if there were issues with their radio equipment.

The last person on the team was the most unusual as far as State Alchemist's went, as she was also a junior member of the diplomatic corps, and a linguistics expert. Caroline Flynn, the Sensation Alchemist, was a particularly interesting person. As an alchemist, beyond the traditional skills that every State Alchemist was required to learn as part of the tools of the trade, her specialties were much more subtle. Caroline was an expert at the manipulation of objects at the smallest levels to alter the sensory experience of them: to change the smell, or taste, of something, or to shift the pitch, or the length of a light wave to affect color and other effects. It was definitely a set of skills that required finesse and imagination to make the best use of, but Ted had no doubts that Caroline could handle anything that came her way.

Including himself, since she had very formally and politely shot him down the one time he had tried to flirt with her almost three years ago. Thankfully, she had either forgotten, or did not hold it against him, because she had agreed to be on this time with no objections.

It was a fascinating team, and one Ted was looking forward to working with, even if he didn't know them all as well as he would have liked before they were assembled, literally the day before they were tossed on the train. The last few days had been a lot of talking, about strategy, and about themselves, trying to work out how they would fit together beyond their assigned official tasks.

Now they were all piled into a truck, with Ted driving, Caroline in the seat beside him—in case they had to speak in anything beyond rudimentary Drachman to someone—and the other three snuggled in the back. He was glad cabs in these things were roomy. Driving slowly through the chaos, he hoped they weren't being watched too closely as they moved around behind the train, out of sight of the ravine where the bridge had just blown, and took a side road that took them almost straight East instead, through the small town nearby, to where—according to the map—they could catch a local state highway in a north-easterly direction that would take them to Karmatsk by a reasonably direct route, though it would take longer than if they had taken the main highway, which paralleled the train, straight up to Petrayevka before cutting East.

"Everyone remember the back story?" Ted asked, probably unnecessarily, as they finally hit the highway, which was mostly clear of ice and snow for the moment, and picked up speed.

To their credit, no one on the team outwardly rolled their eyes.

Felix actually grinned. "We're all cousins going to visit relatives for New Year's. We got delayed with the chaos that broke out a few days ago, and that's why we're running terribly late."

"But our grandmother is sickly," Rex chimed in, "And this might be her last few weeks of life, so none of us are willing to turn back and give up on the trip."

"You two," Vasti gestured at Felix and Ted, "Work in the oil fields near Rasticaw, even though you're from Tolya, which is where we are going. Rex and I are brother and sister, and both students at the college in Rasticaw, which is why we're driving back together."

"And I," Caroline sighed heavily, "am your doting fiancée."

"Sorry," Ted commented, and he honestly meant it. But Caroline, with her near-black thick dark hair, dark brown eyes, and slightly Cretan looking features, just did not fit in with the rest of the car, since everyone else happened to fit within a range of light-to-dark blond hair, with green or blue eyes, with the except of Ted's distinctive golden yellow. For the purpose of disguise, he had actually been given a pair of non-correcting cosmetic lenses that turned them a pale green. "Hopefully that won't be a necessary part of our ruse."

As long as everyone knew the story and stuck to it, they should be all right. Ted figured they had everything they needed: the radio equipment to hopefully create a secret communications connection between Amestris and Karmatsk that Valhov couldn't block, appropriate local food, clothing, a surprisingly decent supply of Drachman money for necessities—like gas, and cheap motel rooms if they needed those—some emergency camping and medical supplies, and a random six-pack of the cheapest Drachman beer Ted have ever seen, that was sitting cold in the back of the truck. When Ted had asked what that was for, Cal had simply told him that if there wasn't alcohol somewhere in the truck, no one would believe they were Drachman and it would immediately raise suspicions.

Given how bad he had heard the brand was, Ted had no intention of touching it.

Though when Felix and Rex almost immediately started playing silly car games in the back seat, he had a feeling he might be tempted before the mission was out.

* * *

The Amestrian equipment was loaded off the train, reloaded, and ready to go in under three hours, which was good timing given how much needed to be moved, especially people, but it bothered Cal that after the explosion, there had been no further attack, and they had been allowed to disembark. He decided, after a lot of consideration, that Valhov was probably waiting to see if they would do what he wanted them to do, and turn around and go home by road.

Naturally, Cal had no intention of doing any such thing. The road, according to the map, had two or three routes that would take them over or around the ravine. The shortest had a bridge that could be just as easily blown, but if they went about an hour out of their way, there was a road that would take them around one end of it, and then back to the highway. It seemed worth the detour.

Cal found a phone and made a call to Headquarters, that quickly confirmed that was the right decision, and that Valhov was still making threats he had not been able to act on much yet. The train was going to have to use its back ending to go back without them. Cal hopped into one of the vehicles in the middle of the caravan, and they were off. The only sign they left behind of being there was a clever, alchemically engraved message in the rocks, visible from the opposite side of the ravine, that said Nice Explosives. Cal had not ordered it, but he could guess which alchemists had done it.

He hoped they could at least make the town of Borval before dark. They would be camping outside the city, unless the local inns and hotel were willing to put them up. Cal was not sure, but he had been given enough exchanged money to be able to pay for the rooms. It was a crazy line of credit for this mission, but he was grateful for it. It would also harbor good will, and help dispel the public view of this as any sort of actual invasion.

* * *

While this year's family party felt a little less festive, a little smaller, and a little more tense than in most years, Edward was grateful to be in Central for it. Ethan and Lia had opened up the house for it, and that meant plenty of room for everyone who was able to come. This year, that meant that there were a lot of small children again, which was something of which Ed would never grow tired. James and Krista had brought Aithne, Lily and Randy had come from East City with the twins, and Alyse and Shelby had brought over Shelby and Charlie's three little ones. Trisha had come with her three as well. Coran and Gale had also come with their boys, who were growing up way too fast in Ed's eyes. Beyond that, almost everyone there was of the oldest two generations. Ian and Bonnie were hosting their own party, and Callie was out somewhere with her boyfriend and some friends, enjoying the New Year's evening festivities to be had in the nightlife of Central.

Alphonse and Elicia and Winry were happily absorbed in helping wrangle the children, talk about children, and otherwise immerse themselves in the conversations. Ed did as well, for a while, but he had noticed early on in the evening that one member of the family did not seem to be enjoying himself.

Distracted, and mostly standing against a wall by himself, or sitting at the end of a table, or standing out on the snowy deck watching the older children throw snowballs, Franz seemed distant. Not that Ed was at all surprised, given the current political chaos that was dealing with Drachma, and keeping track of what was going on on the ground both with the Amestrians moving through potentially hostile territory, and up in Karmatsk. It was a delicate political situation, with an opponent who had little interest in peace or a truly fair deal.

Ed had hoped that Franz would be able to put it to the back of his mind, at least for a short few hours. Dinner had been at seven, but by eleven, Franz had not yet cracked a smile, or engaged in any but the briefest and simplest of conversation.

He refused to let Franz mull his entire evening away when he could be enjoying himself with his family. So he took two mugs of hot spiced apple cider, and cornered Franz who, at that moment, was staring out the long open windows that looked out on the snow-covered yard, and the glowing rosy haze of city lights reflecting off the clouds above. He offered one to Franz, who took it with a distracted nod, then looked back out the window. Even in slacks and a sweater, he seemed to stand at attention, stiffly formal.

"If you don't take that iron rod out of your spine, you're going to do some permanent damage," he quipped, before taking a sip from his cider.

Franz stared at him for a moment, before understanding slowly dawned on his face. "I shouldn't be here," he replied softly, so as not to be heard beyond the two of them. The rest of the noise in the space covered it pretty well.

"If you were sitting in your office staring at the phone nothing would change," Ed contradicted him. "They know where you are tonight, and they've had this number on the call list for decades. If anything happens that actually needs you or your approval, you'll know about it. No news is, at this moment, good news."

At least his son-in-law was too smart and experienced to argue the point. He had worked in that office for decades. "That doesn't mean I feel comfortable here," he added softly. "Not in a familial sense, of course. I just hate the waiting, and working with someone as unpredictable, yet thorough, as Valhov. He seems like he ought to be a typical, power-grabbing dictator—irrational, erratic—but he's not. The more I think it all through, the clearer it becomes that this is a very thorough and well-conceived plan, at least up until the point where he did not immediately get control of the military, or the police force, and critical members of their governing body escaped and have declared against him. Yet, I can't help thinking he must have anticipated some of this, and possibly even have had plans for the outside intervention of other countries. I'm not unconvinced that we haven't sent our men into some kind of trap."

There it was, the possibility no one ever really wanted to face: that the enemy was better prepared, more intelligent, and more capable than you could see, and might possibly be better at this than you. No matter how hard you prepared or tried to plan for eventualities however, both sides would eventually run into a point where the other gained an upper hand, maybe only for a short while. "Of course it's a trap," Ed replied, shrugging. "Always assume it's a trap, and plan accordingly. That is why you sent Whitewater isn't it, and Proteus, and Firestorm? Creative thinkers, fast on their feet, and predictable to us, but good at being unpredictable and dangerous in the field. The force you sent is a good balance of defensive, but enough people he won't be able to take it on lightly, and you acted fast, while everything is still off-balance in Drachma. Mihalov seems to be playing along with us too, and with two of you at the game board, you have a much better chance of outmaneuvering the man standing in the middle."  
Franz stared at him for several seconds. "Do you have some inside track on intelligence that I should know about?"

Ed chuckled. "Just a lifetime of experience and a working television. I've fought more than my fair share of Drachman crazies, and while Valhov may be more dangerously successful than most, I don't think he's crazy, just power mad, and if he's like most of them he honestly things he's doing it for all the right reasons, to make Drachma the way he wants Drachma, because he thinks his way is the best way."

"Sounds right from our lack of negotiations so far."

"What matters now, is how he handles the unexpected, and where he stopped planning for eventualities," Ed continued. "He must have considered whether he thought you would get involved, or whether the Amestrian government would be too passive to directly step across the line like you have, or if you would have possibly done what Amestris has traditionally done, and left Drachman politics to Drachma, and negotiated with whoever held the seat of power in Petrayevka. Which, of course, is probably what would have happened if our Ambassador hadn't gotten killed, and the wanton slaughter of innocents hadn't gotten Amestris' hackles up."

Franz nodded again. "Again, that's just what I was thinking, and I'm still not sure which side he was betting on. He had to know that dividing the military the way he has, and throwing everything into chaos, he might not have a large force to throw at anyone who decided to invade. I think the only reason he hasn't directly attacked us yet, is because we've made it so clear that this is supposed to be a peaceful rescue and extraction and that we aren't going to mess with the fighting on either side as long as they don't mess with us. I'm not sure they believe us since Mihalov's the one who rescued our people, but we'll maintain it for as long as they remain non-aggressive towards us."  
"It's about all you can do." From what Ed had seen so far, Franz and the Assembly were handling the situation the best way they could with the information and hand they'd been given. The only things Ed might have done differently would have required it to be a different time, and a different age. "As long as our people are relatively safe in Karmatsk, and Valhov is pretending that Tillers' death was an accident and he wants our people safely returned to us, he doesn't have hostages, or anything else to hold over Amestris' head. He can't just blow up Karmatsk, and even if he wanted to, he would have to have the destructive weapons to do that with." He, Winry, and Al had blown up the only missile manufacturing location on the continent—and stolen their only airplane prototype—several years ago. The Hashman Syndicate had been the only group that had that knowledge or had worked it out aside from a very small number of people in Amestris. That information was locked in heads, and very classified files. Files that Franz had full access to. "Did you think about just flying up there and rescuing them?" he asked, dropping his voice extra soft.

"Of course I did," Franz admitted without a moment's hesitation, "But we couldn't risk bringing that plane out of storage and into the open. Once Drachma saw it, it would start that whole messy arms race all over again. The last thing we need is anyone having that kind of technology in regular use, especially the missiles. Putting that idea in the Drachmans' heads would be the most foolish thing I could do. There's just no way we would manage it without being found out eventually. There would be no way to get it up there entirely unseen, or unheard given how loud that motor was, as I remember."

"You remember correctly." It was precisely the same logic Ed would have used, despite the fact the urge to take the plane up would have been very strong. "Is it still in working condition?" he asked, curiously. They had offered, after the Xing coup had been quashed, to let Ed keep the thing, disassembled and hidden in Resembool, but he had refused, preferring instead that it be kept in a classified location, under military lock and key. He still felt that way, but that didn't mean he didn't miss flying.

"We mothballed her intact," Franz admitted. "There's a little work that would need to be done to make her airworthy, but everything should work and no critical parts are missing." He shook his head. "There are still very few people who know what it is, or where it is," he reminded Ed unnecessarily. "The public to any soldiers who saw it in Xing is that it was too dangerous to keep and was disassembled and the plans destroyed."

"Which is technically true."

"It's just not worth the risk. Especially with this guy in charge. Valhov is too intelligent. He would see immediately the value of flying machines, and he'd have Drachman engineers working on them in a few days. It might take a while to perfect, but Drachma with planes and missiles is even more terrifying than the Syndicate, in some ways. If they'd had those when they invaded…."

He did not have to finish that statement. Ed knew. It would have been a much more one-sided slaughter. But he also wondered, if he had given that technology to Amestris back in the twenties or thirties, would it have prevented the invasion? Or would Amestris have once again become the military monster Bradley had created, even in his absence? "It should stay in mothballs," Ed finally agreed. "An enemy like Valhov doesn't need any help from us."

For the next few minutes, they stood in companionable silence, sipping cider. "Any suggestions?" Franz finally asked simply.

"Keep him guessing," Ed replied. "The best way to do that is, right now, to seem transparent and stick with your existing story until he gives you a reason to do otherwise. Let him make the first move, and the first mistake. As long as he's the aggressor, you can play the self-defense card. But as soon as he is the aggressor, let your men mop the floor with theirs. The more he takes us seriously, the less attention he will be able to pay to what's going on up in Karmatsk, which will give the splinter-government up there time to reestablish authority, consolidate power, and organize a proper counter strike instead of all these scattered conflicts they have right now between the loyalists and those who backed this new mess."

"Any suggestions that we aren't already doing?"

Ed grinned at his son-in-law as the clock began to eleven-forty-five. "Nothing comes to mind. Oh, except that you should definitely try and get this wrapped up before 1990 is over, cause it's about to start with a bang."


	10. Chapter 10

**January 1st, 1990**

The first day of the new year did not start quietly. Franz had gone to bed and gotten sleep not long after it had turned midnight, but he hadn't slept well, and he had come into the office early, just in time to receive another direct wire from Petrayevka, with more demands from Valhov. This time, he was demanding once again the immediate removal and retreat of the Amestrian forces.

To which Amestris offered a very simple response. If they just allowed them to pass, they would continue unimpeded, retrieve their countrymen, and leave. This did not have to become conflict.

Valhov returned that he did not have time or resources to provide a proper escort, and he could not allow them to tromp unimpeded through the Drachman countryside, terrifying his already scared and scattered populace. Nor could he vouch for their safety.

To which Amestris assured them that they could take care of themselves, no escort was necessary, they would happily stay on major highways, and certainly had no intention of bothering the locals.

Before lunch Valhov had made it clear that if Amestris continued, there would be further deterrents and they would be considered dangerous aggressors and treated appropriately.

"Why are we even negotiating with them?" It was like banging their heads against a cast iron table. They might make some dents, but mostly it was going to be to their own skulls.

General Anastas shrugged. "Because we're not stupid enough to openly declare war, even on a divided Drachma? The last thing we need to do is unite them against a common cause, and even with Mihalov declaring the previous government is still in power, that doesn't mean the rest of the people will follow suit."

It had been a rhetorical question, but Franz knew his entire staff was as frustrated as he was with this situation, and just as concerned. He had considered Valhov a reasonable person, but he was beginning to wonder if the man was not more insane than he thought, or just cracking under the strain of his plans not going as well as he had expected. That seemed more likely. Up until now, Valhov had continued to play the hero, no matter how badly things were going. He was trying to paint Amestris as getting involved where they shouldn't, and a possible danger, when all they wanted was a very reasonable thing. If Franz had been in any similar situation, he would have thought providing an escort or even just letting them through and keeping tabs on them would have been very reasonable. Let them take their people and leave him to his business without international interference, or at least, without another front to fight on. Right now there were too many of them within Drachma's borders as it was. "I told General Fischer to keep moving forward yesterday, and I am not rescinding that order. I don't think he's bluffing, but he doesn't have the forces to mass any kind of major attack against our people right now, based on reports. Maybe an equal battlefield if it comes to that. He could try to block us off, force us to retreat. We will have to see how far he'll let us call his bluff, but if he tries to call ours, he will learn that we don't back down."

"Also that we still have alchemists," Anastas added with a nod, "And damned good ones."

"Who are mostly there for other purposes than combat, though all of them are more than capable." Franz agreed. "If they have to deal with Whitewater or Firestorm, they're going to be very sorry."

"How well do you think Proteus' team is doing?" Anastas asked. "Any word?"

Franz nodded, and glanced down at the most recent report. "Fischer heard from them early this morning. They had already put the first radio tower in place and moved on. The second should be in place by late this morning, and so on. They were making good time and had not run into any trouble with the locals. Apparently most people are too distracted with what's going on to pay attention to anyone coming through who isn't waving weapons and screaming political slogans."

"That is very convenient for us."

"Let's hope it stays that way." Franz had no illusions that it would, but at least for now the internal conflict in Drachma was working in their favor. The further through their plan they could get before that changed, the better.

* * *

"That's another one done." Ted looked at their handwork—another radio tower hidden in the middle of seemingly nowhere and off the beaten path where no one was likely to bother it. This one had gone up even faster than the last, thanks to their experience putting up the first one. They had all read the technical manuals for them on the train, but getting their hands on them definitely improved their speed. "Let's see how far we can get before nightfall." If they made good time, they would reach the next location in time to sleep, set up in the morning, and continue on.

"Will it jinx us if I voice optimism at this point?" Felix Tringham chuckled as they quickly finishing packing tools back into the truck and piled in.  
Ted hopped back into the driver's seat. "Only if you believe in jinxes, which I don't."

"All right then," Felix chuckled as they finished buckling in and Ted pulled the truck back onto the road. "I was just thinking how smoothly this was going. Even if it doesn't last, we're making good time and great progress."

"Nothing wrong with being competent at our jobs," Caroline agreed with a nod.

"I actually expected worse weather," Vasti chimed in. "I mean, it's cold and snowing, but it's always cold and snowing. The roads haven't been nearly as treacherous as I figured they would be."

"It helps the heat in this truck works," Rex pointed out, but Ted was glad to see the entire team was in good spirits. He just hoped things continued to go their way.  
An hour later, he was beginning to reconsider his skepticism about jinxes.

Fresh snow had started coming down fast, coating the roads and making them slick, so he had to focus a lot more on driving and trying to keep the truck on the road. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be anyone else on the road, so at least he wasn't too worried about hitting anyone else.

At least, he wasn't until he heard a sharp blast, and something ricocheted off the top of the truck. Only an idiot would have mistaken it for anything other than a gunshot. He stepped on the gas a little, trying to get away from whoever was shooting at them—

-Only to find themselves driving right through the middle of what appeared to be a two-sided fire fight.

He was not the only one cursing aloud, and Vasti shouted "Drive!" as Ted dodged, wove, and did his best to get through, when he still could barely see through the snow ahead of him. Then they were swinging around a curve, and amongst the gunfire, he heard another, much louder, pop, and suddenly the truck swerved, slid, and he barely managed to bring it to a stop just before it would have slammed into a heavy snowbank.

"We've got a flat," he announced, probably unnecessarily. "Everybody out! We've got to find cover." Sitting in the truck would only make them non-moving targets. They could hardly fix a tire in the middle of someone else's firefight. Both sides probably thought they were with the other.

In moments they were all out in the driving snow, struggling up the bank and under an overhang with a rock lip that formed a shallow natural cave, with a slight barrier they could duck behind.

Which was good, because someone on the other side of the roadway was now shooting at their hiding spot.

They had weapons, but Ted didn't think now was the best time for shooting back. "Glacier. Care to take a crack at this one?"

Rex grinned broadly. "My pleasure, Proteus." With that, he scratched out a quick circle in the rock lip. A few seconds later it glowed, and across the way, there was a loud rumbling as the snow on the other side surged upward in a wave, then collapsed down the hill into the road, apparently taking at least one shooter with it.

Unfortunately there were others. Proteus didn't want them to kill anybody. There was enough death going on, but he had a feeling they might have to if they couldn't convince whoever was out there shooting that they were not, in fact, part of the group they were shooting at. At least where they were, they did not seem to have attacks coming from both sides. Perhaps the one had realized that they couldn't be part of the other by now. At least, he could hope so. They couldn't see who might be coming up behind them over this hill, if indeed there was a way up and around. He wasn't placing any bets on them being safe here.

So the pummeled the other side with small landslides, surges of ice, and other things designed to injure and detain and drive away, but not automatically to kill.  
Ted had barely a moment's glimpse before someone dropped into the cave beside him, wrapped tightly in Drachman winter gear. He shouted and turned to engage, but even as he did, the person beside him turned to look out at the other side, aimed the rifle in his or her hands, and started shooting.

At least they've decided we're on their side… for now. He doubted it would stay that way if they were identified as Amestrians. He also wished he knew which side was saving their bacon. Was it Valhov's men, or Mihalov's? For the moment, he decided it didn't matter.

With the additional firepower, the other side of the ridge eventually went quiet.

:Anybody hurt?: Ted asked. He had dropped into Drachman the moment the random Drachman with the rifle had arrived, hoping that they might avoid being outed in the first few seconds. Thankfully the others had been smart enough to follow suit, or keep their mouths shut.

Everyone shook their heads, and Ted marveled at their good fortune.

:Just frozen,: Rex quipped.

Ted turned to the person to his left and offered his hand. :Thanks. We appreciate the help.:

The person in question reached out and shook his hand before lifting the shooting goggles up, allowing him a glimpse at a pair of sharp, steely-blue eyes which—close as they were—he could see a ring of pale turquoise in the center, with the darker steel outside it. They were the most unusual color he had ever seen outside of his family. :You don't have guns,: a woman's voice came out muffled behind the scarf.

:We do actually.: Ted patted the sidearm he was carrying. :We were just trying to keep out of the feud since we're just passing through.:

He really doubted they would be lucky enough for her to not ask what they were doing passing through, so he wasn't disappointed when she asked, :Which side are you with?:

:Like I said, we're not locals, so not them,: he gestured across the way. :I'm inclined to side with whoever decides to jump in and save myself, and my comrades.:

:A fair answer.: The woman nodded. She did not, however, put down her rifle even though she was not aiming it at them. :Your truck has a bad tire. Do you have a spare?:

:We do. We can have it changed and on our way shortly if we can get a few minutes without being shot at to swap it out.:

:The fighting is over for now.: She glanced out across the ravine through which the road ran again. :But I can provide you cover in case those Zinovek dogs come back.:  
Zinoveks, that meant she was likely not a Valhov fan, given the derision in her voice. That was good! Ted nodded. :We're trying to get to Tolya,: he went with their cover story, :to see family.: Which was true enough for him, with Gloria up there.

That got him an interested, if suspicious glance, though she did not say anything as they slipped and slid back down the several feet of steep rock and snow to the truck which, thankfully, while it had a couple of new holes in it, did not seem to have been hit in anything critical that would keep it from running. They pulled out the spare and had it swapped in under three minutes.

:We could be a racing pit crew,: Felix quipped as they finished up.

Ted hopped into the cab and put the key in the ignition. A moment later the truck started up just fine. :Well, that's a relief. Thanks so much for your help. We'll just be on our way then.:

:Not yet.: She leaned up against the hood of his truck. :You're on my family's property, and you've got some unusual stuff in the back of this truck of yours. Also, there's no way you're from Tolya.:

:I just said we were going there,: Ted pointed out mildly.

:You were using alchemy in that fight.:

Shit. Well, that was true. :Does that mean we are no longer on the same side?: Ted asked cautiously.

:Actually, I think it means we are very much on the same side,: she said. :If that is true, then I need to know more, because I can be of use to you, and you can be of use to me. Please, come with me back to my house, just for a little while. You can explain yourselves, and I can explain what I need.:

Normally Ted would have feared a trap, but he sensed no duplicity from her, merely a sense of honest urgency. That, and she had just saved their lives. He supposed they could bust out of anything that turned sour. He looked over at the rest of his team. :What do you think?:

Felix shrugged, Rex grinned. Vasti and Caroline both looked considering, but nodded.

:Lead the way then,: Ted turned back to the woman in full winter gear. He still hadn't seen more of her than her eyes. :Do you have a vehicle or do you need a ride?:

:A ride would be fine,: she said. :I walked out here, like everyone else. It's just a couple of miles.: She got around and Caroline slid into the middle of the front seat so the Drachman could get in.

With directions, it only took a few minutes to make it the couple of miles to the entrance to the house part of the property, which proved to be a large, open gate in a huge stone wall, that extended out of sight in the swirling snow. It looked like the entrance to some kind of estate, and within a couple hundred yards, he understood why—a sprawling two-story manor unfolded before them.

Ted had seen large estates before, but he was still impressed. It also told him a lot. Her family was wealthy, but the style of the house implied old money which, in Drachma, implied some measure of the nobility. From what he understood, many of the old nobility—and some of the new, who had earned their money the hard way—did not approve of Valhov's tactics or methods, even if they might have otherwise liked some of his policies. He was okay with that, since it meant that whoever they were about to meet, they were probably not being led to their immediate deaths.

They were escorted inside from the garage without any major ado, met by an employee of the house who took their coats, and were escorted to a large sitting room where a roaring fire was waiting. They were encouraged to sit and, within a few minutes, the gentleman returned with a platter of coffee cups and a steaming pot of thick coffee, with cream and sugar to add as they might prefer.

As long as he had been in the military, he would happily have taken it black and sipped it first before deciding if it needed doctoring. The coffee was piping fresh hot and had a dark, nutty flavor. He added just a little sugar and called it good.

The room in which they sat was full of dark wood paneling. Where there wasn't paneling the walls were painted a deep sky blue. The ceiling was painted in repeating patterns of blue and golden yellow. The furniture was mostly in blues to match, and other dark woods, and a thick carpet covered most of the floor. It was pleasantly warm.

The woman had vanished once they had been deposited in the sitting room, and did not return for quite some time.

:What do you think they're going to want with us?: Felix asked as they sat in a close circle on padded chairs and a sofa.

:If they hate Valhov, than they may want to know what we know about the situation in Karmatsk,: Ted responded, considering their options. :If they are allies, they may be useful, as she said. Locals who know the area, and the politics, and are fluent in the language could be very beneficial.:

:They just fought a skirmish with someone, they're probably not likely to be too trusting given when we showed up,: Caroline pointed out softly. :Though I agree that good relations with them would be beneficial. If nothing else, when or if we have to come this way again, having at worse neutral parties and at best allies would also be good.:

:Do we tell them who we really are?: Rex asked.

:We may not have a choice,: Ted replied, privately wondering if she hadn't already figured out they weren't actual Drachman at all. She had picked up that they weren't from where they were going pretty much immediately from the accent.

They were onto their second cups of coffee, and mostly thawed, when a woman appeared in the doorway that momentarily took Ted's breath away.

She was about his age, if he had to guess, of average height, and a slim but solid muscular build that implied she did a lot of physical work, though at the moment she was wearing dark green pants and a soft, light gray fitted sweater. What really caught his attention however, was the cascade of nearly shock-white hair that fell almost to her waist in loose waves. There was just a hint of color to it, so it looked like it had been dipped in champagne. She wasn't quite albino, but the fair hair matched her skin. As she came closer to them, he realized that she had the eyes he had seen before. So this was probably their mysterious rescuer.

Ted stood, and nodded politely. :Is everything all right?: he asked first. They had shown up right in the middle of a fight after all.

She looked only a little surprised that he had asked. :No fatalities, surprisingly,: she replied. :Only a couple of minor injuries. Thank you.:

:Thank you.: Ted smiled. :Without your help, we might have been in a lot more trouble.: He still thought they would have gotten out of it on their own, but he didn't want to think of having had to have killed that many people on a mission where they were not supposed to be noticed, or kill anyone if possible. :Thank you also for the hospitality. The coffee is excellent, and it is nice to be warm.:

At that, her cool, businesslike expression finally softened just a bit, and she smiled back. :We are known for our hospitality. Even if you were prisoners, which you are not, we would treat you civilly. I have questions, and you have questions, if we speak honestly with each other, I expect we will both be pleased with the outcome of this meeting.:

She sounded so formal. :Fair enough.: Ted sat, and she poured herself a cup of coffee, leaving it black, and joined them.

:You may ask questions first,: she offered.

Well, that was appreciated. :May I have the pleasure of your name?: Ted asked before anyone else could open their mouths.

She blinked as if she looked like she had forgotten she had not introduced herself. :I am Anika Marskaya, and you are not Drachman.:

:Why do you say that?: Crap, had he already mis-stepped somewhere?

Now, she was smiling. :You did not know whose land you were on, and you do not seem to know who my family is. Therefore, you are clearly not Drachman.:

Apparently the Marskayas were important. :Ignorant as charged,: Ted said, though he did not identify themselves further. As the leader of the mission, they had all agreed he should take point on the conversation, though Caroline would jump in if any really careful negotiations were needed.

:Then I will enlighten you,: Anika replied. :My father is General Vichel Marskaya, retired now and serving as a representative in the government. Or, he was. We have not heard from him since the coup and murders in Petrayevka.: At that, she looked concerned. :He was not listed among the casualties, but he was also not one of those who spoke in the news report from Karmatsk. He has not managed to send us a message by any means if he lives and is free.:

That explained her dislike of the Zinoveks certainly. :So you've been out here this whole time?:

:No, actually.: Anika shook her head. :I work in Petrayevka, at the zoo. I came home to help my brothers prepare for the holidays. Our father was supposed to be a couple of days behind me. I was still on the train when we lost contact with the city.:

So she had brothers, who were here, and she worked at the zoo. :So you're nobility, but you work at the zoo.:

:I'm the youngest of four, and I like working with animals.: Anika shrugged. :I used to hunt with them, until they got tired of me being a better shot than they are. I prefer protecting and working with the animals. Enough of that. You will meet my three older brothers shortly. With father missing, my eldest brother Leonid is running things here. Niki and Kirill are helping while they are home. Right now, who knows how long that will be. Things have been tense here. There aren't any military outposts, but there are a lot of folks who agree with Valhov and his policies. They decided to get bold and try and steal off our property.:

:You mentioned you wanted our help with something,: Ted reminded her, hoping to move the conversation in that direction. :You helped us, so I would like to hear what you had in mind.:

:That depends on your answers to my questions,: Anika replied without offering any further clarification. :Who are you really, and why are you going to Karmatsk?:

She was either very good at bluffing, or smart enough to have deduced their plan. :I didn't say anything about Karmatsk,: he commented calmly.

:Kolya is right by it, and as we've already figured out, you're not Drachman. If I had to guess, I believe you are Amestrians by your accents. Everyone knows there are Amestrian troops coming north towards Petrayevka on a mission to retrieve your people who are currently in hiding with the Mihalov government. It's been all over any news report in any media we can get. So first, introduce yourselves, and tell me something of your plans. If you are what I think you are, than you can help me. If you are not, than I will have to find other means of getting done what I need.:

Ted glanced at the others. Caroline nodded slowly. Better to do it now before her brothers arrived. :All right. You are right. We're Amestrians; State Alchemists, sent ahead as a scouting team to secure a communication line between Karmatsk and the outside world, so Amestris and Creta can speak directly with Mihalov and with our people. We are to offer support if Karmatsk comes under attack while we are there, but we're supposed to try not to get involved in the local conflict.: He shrugged. They all knew how well that was turning out. :What you saw in the truck are small emergency radio towers we are setting up at intervals to create that communication line that Valhov doesn't control. I promise we haven't put anything on your land, as it wasn't a location marked on our map for one. We really were just passing through when we got caught in the crossfire.:

:I believe you and, thankfully, so do my brothers. If not, I'd have to shoot you.: She did not sound like she was bluffing. :Do you have names, State Alchemist?:

So much for anonymity. :I am Edward Elric.:

She blinked, then snorted. :No, you aren't. He's almost a hundred years old!:

Apparently his Grandfather was famous here, too. :I'm his grandson, the other one,: he explained, feeling a little disgruntled. :Most people just call me Ted. It's a nickname.:

:Very well then, Ted Elric.: She looked at the others, who introduced themselves briefly, one at a time. :I believe you can do what I need then,: she said finally. :I want you to take me with you to Karmatsk.:

That was not the request Ted had been expecting. :Why do you want to go there if your father is not there?:

:We have no idea where he is,: Anika pointed out. :Our best hope is to speak to someone with a wider intelligence network. If he was killed, we would know. If he was captured and alive, we would probably know. If we do not, someone else will. If he is free, he may have made contact with the government in Karmatsk and be on his way there, or working for Mihalov from a distance. The only way we can know is to go up there and see. With communications down in parts of the country, we were unable to try calling even a general city number in Karmatsk. We cannot afford to spare any local people or vehicles for the trip, but I do not have the same responsibilities here that my brothers do, since I don't work locally. I cannot get back into Petrayevka for work at the moment either, so this is the most useful thing I can do. So yes, I want you to take me to Petrayevka. In return, I will help guide you along the route, and I will protect you.:

:No offense, we saw you're really good,: Rex cut in, grinning, :But do you think one more gun is going to be useful.:

:You've never seen me take down a Northern White Bear,: she replied, dead serious. :There are stretches of very uncivilized country between here and Karmatsk, and that includes wildlife who really will not care whose side you're on as long as they can eat you.:

Anika was definitely an interesting person. Ted already had respect for her abilities with a rifle. :What will you do in Karmatsk if there is nothing to hear,: he asked.

:Stay and help, fight if I can. I will only come home if there is nothing more I can do, and I refuse to have that be the case.:

:It's a fair request,: he acknowledged. There were very few reasons he could see not to bring her along. None of them thought she was a danger to them. :We would like to discuss it first, if you don't mind.:

:I expected as much.: She shrugged as if it were of little consequence. :I know we have little reason to trust each other, but from where I am sitting, we are both on the same side simply by being out to thwart Valhov's plans, even if we are doing it in different ways. Your people were innocent in all of this, and they should go home. Drachma has always handled its internal problems on its own, and that is unlikely to change. Many people will not appreciate Amestris getting involved more than it has to. If I help you, you will get in quicker, and out quicker, and it will benefit the true government.:

All true. :How long may we have to consider?: Ted asked. They really did need to be getting back on the road, but he did not want to rush things and mess this up.  
:My brothers will be done inspecting the damage and checking on the injured in the next hour or so. I recommend you make a decision before that. After you have met with them, we will leave. However, you must not tell them of this plan, no matter how you decide.: She looked irritated now. :They do not want me to get hurt. Though you'd think they would know better by now.:

Ted thought of his own family, and how his sister Callie hated being babied, and had ever since they were little, just for being the youngest and only girl. Though that had ended quickly enough since they had all figured out she could very much hold her own. He smiled. :They shouldn't underestimate you.:

Her reaction said she hadn't been expecting that kind of comment, but it had given her something to consider about him. As with everything so far, she recovered quickly. :I will give you a few minutes to talk privately.: With that she stood, and left once more.

No longer hiding their identities, Ted was relieved to switch back to speaking in Amestrian. It made complex thoughts much easier to convey. "What do you think?" he asked everyone, but he was looking at Caroline. She was the diplomatic expert.

"I think you did a decent job," she replied. "She seems trustworthy, and she honestly wants to get to Karmatsk, so I don't see her as a threat to us, or to the Amestrians or Cretans we are going to rescue. I believe she's telling the truth about wanting to help Mihalov and her dislike of the Zinovek's seems truly genuine, and very passionate. There seems to be minimal risk with bringing her along, and we would gain a guide, who is fluent and has the local dialect, and has some pull locally to keep us out of trouble."

"I agree with that assessment," Felix added. "Things will be a little snug in the truck, but it's only for a few more days, and she could save us a lot of problems along the way."

"Is this something we need to contact a higher ranking officer for?" asked Rex.

"Normally, yes," Ted admitted. "However we don't make contact with General Fischer again until tomorrow morning, and I don't think we could reach him from here. These are unusual circumstances. Also… I'm going out on a limb here, but I think he would probably say yes." He had known the Whitewater Alchemist most of his life, even if he had sort of been a background figure and just another adult at many family holiday gatherings. The past few years he had gotten to know him better as an alchemist, and as an adult he had seen more of the other aspects of Cal Fischer. "If not, I'll take all the blame and we can ask for forgiveness later."

"Well, I'm in," Vasti nodded.

Once that was decided, things moved quickly. Anika returned, and was pleased and clearly relieved by their decision. She said she had already packed—just in case—and had the staff bring them a light meal. Hot soup and basic sandwiches tasted like a feast after the past couple of days, and Ted appreciated that the stop was not fruitless.  
They could not leave, however, until they had met Anika's brothers. Here, Ted was more concerned about making a political or diplomatic misstep that might cause them trouble. Thankfully, they seemed more amused and pleased that their sister had happened to find and save random Amestrians who were not-so-random. They too, voiced very clear dislike, bordering much more on hatred, for Valhov and his cronies, and the people who were choosing to side with him. Vociferous enough they put any remaining doubts the Amestrians' might have had about Anika's sincerity to rest.

Thankfully, they also seemed quite happy to assist. :We won't tell anyone you were here,: Leo Marskaya assured them. :Though if you need assistance, be sure to contact us. I know the phones are not reliable, but we'll be sure you have the number for the house. They might come up again. If there is anything we have that you need for supplies, we can also make that happen within reason. My sister tells me that you just replaced your tire. We can give you a new spare.:

By the end of what Ted could only think of as "the interview," they were all on peaceable terms, and it seemed to be the beginning of a useful alliance. Ted hoped it would last when these guys realized that their sister had run off to Karmatsk with them, even if it was to help with the current situation.

Eventually, they could not add any more delays to their schedule, so they packed the extra tire, food, and other items they were given into the truck. Ted was gratified to see that someone in their large garage had taken it upon themselves to do a quick-but-effective patch job on the bullet holes in the truck frame. He had his team quickly check to make sure all of their equipment was still present and in working order.

They were just about to head out when Anika joined them again, wrapped once more in her thick winter gear, with a dark backpack and her rifle in its case. Her long white hair was tightly braided and coiled up on top of her head like a crown, which explained how she could stuff it so effectively under the winter hat she had worn earlier, which Ted suspected was packed in somewhere with the rest of her things.

:Your brothers didn't see you?: Ted asked curiously as she hopped into the truck next to Caroline.

:They are too busy dealing with the aftermath of the fight to worry about me. I told them I was going out to get the news. There's a stand in the town a few miles up the road, so they will assume that is where I've gone. I left them a detailed message in my room, so they will know I wasn't kidnapped when I don't come home in a couple of hours. I suggest we get going.:

Ted did not need to be told twice. He put the truck in drive, and they rolled back down the long drive, out the gates, and turned north—to the right—back onto the street. One good side-effect of their delay—the heavy snow had lessened to a light flurry, and visibility had markedly improved.

:So, is there anything we should know?: Ted asked, referring to the route ahead.

:Well, as I said, there's a town up here, though it's not a big one, and they get enough through traffic seeing an unfamiliar truck isn't unheard of, especially not lately. A lot of people have been fleeing the cities to be with country relatives to avoid the violence.: Anika explained. "Also, I speak some Amestrian."

The shift was so sudden Ted almost didn't catch it at first. He had to keep staring at the road to keep from glancing over at her. The rest of the car did it for him, as Felix chuckled, Rex let out a "well, I'll be," and both of the girls seemed to look like they had both assumed as much from what Ted could see beside him and in the rear-view. He finally managed a casual, "Well, that'll be useful."


	11. Chapter 11

**January 4th, 1990**

It was another three days before the Amestrian troops ran into Drachman resistance, which gave Cal some very useful information about how much trouble Valhov might be having in getting those under his command militarily to actually get things done on any scale with the current civil unrest taking up most of their attention and splitting their numbers almost perfectly in half. Clearly, Valhov did not speak for as much of a majority as he probably thought.

They were less than three days travel from Petrayevka, if they had really wanted to go there, and less than one day from the split highway they were aiming for that would take them up to Karmatsk, when they came over a mountain ridge the highway went up and over, to find the other side consisted of an area that was relatively narrow, but long, with a bridge in the center over a deep, rushing river, that was both highway and train bridge. What mattered most, however, was the number of Drachman troops arranged blocking the highway at the other end of the valley, so no traffic on the ground or on the tracks could get through in either direction.

Cal found it telling that they hadn't already just blown this bridge as well. Here, there was no other easy way across to go around. This made him very suspicious that it was a trap. He would have bet his left shoe that the bridge was rigged to blow if they set foot on it. Which meant, for the moment, they weren't going any further without a very careful plan.

Which meant it was time for a strategic meeting. As soon as they put the men to setting up camp, Cal summoned all three infantry Colonels, and the Firestorm Alchemist to his tent for a meeting.

"Oh yeah, it's definitely a trap," Roy agreed with a nod. "The whole place is a bottleneck. The infantry can't fight each other unless one or the other of us crosses that bridge either. Even if they started shooting, without crossing, the other side is only barely in range, unless we all want to start playing with tanks, and I feel like doing that in this valley would be inviting landslides."

"Which works to our advantage," Cal pointed out. "They can't hit us, but we can hit them, or at least make their lives very uncomfortable."

Colonel Eisner nodded. "Though my men are going to be awfully disappointed if the Alchemists get to have all the fun, Sir."

"There's nothing fun about this mission, Colonel," Cal replied. "In fact, our goal out here is to have as little fun as possible. Under no circumstances can we start shooting first. That doesn't mean we can't make use of more creative options to deter them and try and make them go away. Negotiations are still going on at the upper ranks, which means we probably aren't going to be doing any diplomatic haggling here of our own. They're going to take whatever orders they are given, and so are we."

"That sounds uncharacteristically by-the-book of you, Sir," Colonel Lutz commented.

"Don't believe everything you hear, or see." Cal knew his reputation preceded him, over multiple generations at this point. He could have hoped for more seasoned men, but as long as this didn't turn into a combat situation with them cut off from Amestris, than that did not matter and they were getting some much needed practical experience. "We will wait here for orders from Central. In the meantime, we see what intelligence we can collect while looking as non-threatening as a small military force illegally on foreign soil can look. Remember, we're supposed to be a rescue mission."

"Yes, Sir," came a chorus of replies and respectful nods.

As the three Colonels headed out, Roy lingered behind. "You said you wanted us to deter them. Just what do you want, Sir?"

Cal leaned back carefully in the little camp chair. "Nothing that can be traced to us directly. Unexplained minor landslides, water melting and refreezing across the ground in camp in odd ways. Maybe firewood disappears into the Earth. Make them uncomfortable, but avoid any kind of obvious signs of transmutation. They'll assume we have alchemists, because we're Amestris, and because I doubt their intelligence is that terrible. Still, as long as they can't prove it, accusations will be meaningless, and what are they going to do? We obviously aren't hurting anybody."

Roy grinned. "I'm sure we can make that happen. Everyone's itching to do something besides ride in vehicles and hope they don't bomb us without warning. This will be a great exercise in subtlety for the new pups."

Cal snickered. "I remember when you were one of those new pups."

"Yeah well, I've blown up a few things since then." Roy stepped out of the tent, leaving Cal briefly alone. Not that it would be that way long. He needed to report in to Central, and inspect the camp to make sure everything was being set up properly, and see what else he could find out about the area around them. He needed to know the terrain more intimately, because he had a gut feeling that they weren't getting out of this valley without it coming down to some kind of fight.

* * *

The defected part of the Drachman Army had arrived. At least, the portion of it that Valhov could muster to send to Karmatsk. From the top floor of the Gurina estate, looking out the windows to the South-West, Gloria could see them, blocking the road, spreading out to surround the city. Now, they definitely weren't going anywhere, not without outside assistance.

Beside her, Alexei had his camera out and was snapping pictures. "There's got to be at least a couple thousand troops out there," he commented. With his zoom lenses, she suspected he was getting a far more accurate count than she was just standing there. "They've even got artillery."

Gloria didn't like the sound of that. "Can anything shoot this far?" she asked, hoping the answer was no.

"Not from the front gates," Alexei replied, "Not so far as I know. The problem will be if they can manage to bring that around the city through the forest to the back side, where it would be far too easy of a shot. That assumes, of course, that they decide to abandon any kind of diplomacy, or hope of avoiding an international war."  
Which would mean they had given up on pretending to be working with the other side, or caring what the public image appeared to be. Gloria could only imagine what that would bring. "I hope it doesn't come to that."

"Don't we all." Alexei squinted and frowned, going quiet. "It looks like…they're sending a delegation to the gates flying a flag of truce. Maybe they want to discuss terms of surrender."

"As if Mihalov is going to surrender to anyone." Gloria really couldn't see that happening given the situation.

"It's just a gesture," Alexei shrugged. "Then Valhov can say he made the overture before he destroyed his enemies, if it ever becomes necessary. I doubt he expects anyone to just surrender quietly. It's Drachma. That has never happened."

"Let's go see what we can find out." Gloria had no intention of standing up here wondering what was going on. She headed for the stairs, hearing Alexei's steady tread behind her a few seconds later.

Downstairs, others had clearly also heard the news that the army outside was sending in someone to discuss terms, because everything was a flurry of activity. There was more security in evidence than Gloria had seen the entire time they had been here, and she suspected that was because they were simply making themselves obvious.  
It only took Gloria a couple of minutes to hunt down Lita Chalmers, who gave her one look and smiled. "I should have known you'd already know what was up," she commented by way of introduction. "Mihalov got a phone call from the gates, and has decided to let them through. The entire party coming in has been very thoroughly checked for weapons before being allowed in the gates. They appear to be almost entirely diplomatic corps. Mihalov is allowing them into the city and they are to come here for their meeting."

"Are you and the Cretan Ambassador going to be attending?" Gloria asked. She was dying to be in that room, but she had a feeling it wouldn't be allowed. However involved she had been allowed to be, she was merely a foreign civilian.

Lita shook her head. "Actually no, not unless they send for us during the meeting. Mihalov intends to meet them with only Drachmans. This will help preserve the image of our being uninvolved, and merely here for safety."

It made perfect sense, but that didn't make Gloria feel any less disappointed. "I suppose we will find out whatever Mihalov wants us to know afterwards."

That was when Lita's grin widened conspiratorially. "You underestimate our host. This house has had, for years now apparently, an internal comm system. Primarily it is used for summoning staff from the other side of the building, or communication between family members. It's basically an internal wired radio system that can be turned on and off. Mihalov has arranged for it to be set to on in the study, and so we will have it turned on in another room where the Cretan Ambassador, his Aide, myself, and my Aide will be listening in on the entire conversation, with a translator provided for anything that gets complicated. If the Cretan Ambassador agrees, you and Alexei could join us as well. I imagine Mihalov will want an accurate version of some of this reported to the public, whether it is now or later."

"That would be amazing!" Gloria's mood flipped from disappointed to ready to work in moments. "How can we get permission?"

"Come to the sitting room in the Cretan wing in twenty minutes, and by then I will have an answer."

It was better than she had been hoping for. Gloria nodded. "We will be there."

Lita turned to walk away.

"Yes, we will."

Alexei's voice came so unexpectedly that Gloria jumped as she turned to look at him. She had almost forgotten he had been behind her, he had been so quiet. "I presume you want to be there."

Alexei smiled patiently. "Well, yes, that had been my intention. How good of you to ask."

"I'll remember to ask if you want to come next time," she offered without embarrassment. She didn't want to volunteer him for anything against his will, but she had been certain he would want to be there. It was the next best thing to being in the room with them. "Do you need to get anything from your room?"

Alexei shook his head. "I've got fresh batteries and several rolls of film right here if I need them, and a notebook." He patted the camera bag slung over his shoulder.

"Well then I'll meet you there in a few minutes. I need to get another notepad." And possibly several pens. The last thing she needed was to run out of ink while trying to transcribe as much useful information as possible. Not for the first time, she wished she had better recording equipment. She hurried upstairs, retrieved her supplies, and went down one level to the Cretan wing, which was directly under the Amestrians.

Alexei was nowhere in sight, but the door to the Cretan sitting area was open. Gloria presumed that meant it was all right to enter.

Inside the room looked nearly identical to the one above it in layout, except that the color scheme here was green, gold, and white. Only the people Lita had mentioned earlier were in the room. It was a little surprising to see that there were no Cretan security team members at the door or in the room. "Where's security?" she asked curiously as she joined them in the corner by what looked like a very small radio.

"At the ends of the hallway and in the stairwells. No one is getting into this part of the building," Lita explained. "This signal is running one way at the moment, so we can speak here, and they will not hear us in Mihalov's office."

That was good to know. "Thank you for allowing this," Gloria said to the Cretan Ambassador as she took a seat near the radio, next to Alexei.

"There is nothing wrong with having the press involved," the Cretan Ambassador replied in Amestrian. "Both of our countries will want to know the truth, and you have become the only coverage of the news from this perspective as you are the only professional journalists present who are not Drachman." There was the small local station in Karmatsk that they had been using for equipment, but their news anchor was a little, elderly gentleman with almost no charisma to speak of.

They grew quiet, waiting in silence as they listened to the shuffling of chairs as Mihalov, and every remaining member of the Drachman government who was there, sat down and arranged themselves to meet the diplomatic envoy. Gloria could picture them arranging themselves to either side of the desk and slightly behind, and possibly beside to fit all of them in without reaching around the sides of the room. She doubted that Mihalov would allow them to sit in any position that implied equal footing.

Eventually things settled quietly there as well, and then she heard the door open, and she heard them announce the Ambassador, a man named Theo Vilnius whom Mihalov apparently knew, because he addressed him with a slightly informal welcome and offered them a seat.

Gloria started scribbling frantically, taking down shorthanded notes on what was said, and inflections.

Vilnius sounded stiff, but took the offered seat, and Mihalov got right down to business by asking him what Valhov's terms were that he was there to present.

The terms, as it turned out, were very simple: declare allegiance to Valhov and surrender to the authorities outside the gate, and no one would be harmed. They would, however, be stripped of their positions within the government and expected to relocate outside of Petrayevka. If this was done, their families would be guaranteed safety in relocation.

To Gloria's surprise, Mihalov chuckled. :Come now, Theo. You know there is no way that we will accept those terms.:

There was a loud, audible sigh. :Yes, I know, Gavril. I even advised him of that before he sent me up here, but he is adamant that this divide end quickly, so that he can consolidate power and bring the military back in line under one command, and the country under one government so he can start effectively enforcing his own changes. Right now, none of that is possible without your consent to be governed.:

:Which we will not give, Theo. What you see here is a functional majority government of the remaining elected Drachman officials. Do the math. Valhov tried to have the government gunned down. That doesn't make him a ruler, that makes him a terrorist, and at the very best a dictator. While I am aware that our authority and ability to act is limited from here, we still hold more right and more sway than Valhov does, sitting in the halls of power in Petrayevka. The city is not Drachma; the people are Drachma.:

:If I take that message back to Valhov, he will have me shot, Gavril. Me and every one of these men.:

:Why did you take this assignment?: Mihalov asked, sounding disgusted and shocked. :Why would you side with him?:

:I didn't.:

Gloria did not quite drop her pencil, but it gave her pause.

:I was stuck in the city, and when Valhov summoned the remaining government members to a meeting, I went because I figured I was in a better position to affect change if I at least pretended to go along with him.:

:How can we trust that is true?: a gruff voice scoffed from somewhere to one side.

There was a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, given she could not see faces to read expressions.

:Why are you really here then, Theo?: Mihalov finally asked.

:I wanted an excuse to come talk to you, to let you know I still side with the legitimate government of Drachma. To see if I can help you, or if—given I knew you would not surrender—there is anything you can do to protect myself and my team. Will you allow us to stay?:

It was a lot to ask. Gloria wished she knew any of these men well enough to know if Vilnus was telling the truth, for he certainly sounded sincere, and how Mihalov and the others would act.

The room below erupted in response to the request, and for several minutes it was difficult for Gloria to determine what was being said at all due to the number of people speaking loudly and rapidly in Drachman. The translator helped, but the gist was about all Gloria could hope for. Some of them believed Vilnius, having worked with him before, and others did not believe a word he said. Some were for allowing him to stay, and some were against it. Very few people seemed to be on the fence on the issue.

Finally the chaos settled into rumblings and then once more into silence.

:Here is what we are going to do.: Mihalov's tone did not leave room for any disagreement. He clearly expected to be obeyed. :We cannot surrender, and we will not. However, I wish you to take a counter-proposal back to Valhov. Tell him this: that we cannot accept his proposal because it does not allow for any of us who may choose to govern under him to make that decision. Many of the representatives here are still very much favored by their constituents, and this offer will infuriate entire swathes of the Drachman public, including several major military bases, should he follow through on this proposed plan. It would be wiser to offer to allow any here who wish to keep their places, or to choose to exile themselves. It will be much better public relations for his attempt at administration as well, and we might, might mind you, be willing to accept a more reasonable offer. This is all your own opinion based on what you have observed here, of course.:

It was a brilliant delaying tactic, and one that would keep heads from rolling for a little longer. :What do you want in exchange?: Vilnius asked, sounding both relieved and suspicious.

:Information, Theo, and your continued loyalty. We need someone to serve as a reliable double agent. Right now, you sit in the best position. You, and your men here. Either all of you are with us, or we cannot allow you to leave Karmatsk.:

What would they do, Gloria wondered, if they had to hold them here? She did not want to think that they would have them killed, but given the situation she could not dismiss the possibility just because she had come to know many of the people here.

:They will not leave,: Vilnius said, seemingly referring to the soldiers outside. :Valhov plans to starve you out for as long as needs be to keep you up here and out of the way, then kill anyone who holds out long enough to be declared a traitor to the country.:

:Will this offer be enough to stall him?: Mihalov asked. :I need him to think that our outward strength is real, but that we might be open to reason if he is willing to truly negotiate. But if he's really going to demand such an absolute response, he's not half the diplomat I thought he was, and much more of a fool.:  
For a moment, another silence hung heavy over everything, and Gloria could almost see Vilnus' mind racing, perhaps his mouth working silently as he considered his response very carefully.

:He seems to be feeling the stress of his position,: Vilnius said finally. :It seems clear to me—this is just conjecture mind you—that he expected a cleaner and more thorough takeover. Your continued survival was not part of his plan beyond possibly putting you in prison. He certainly never thought you would successfully make it out of the city, let alone set up and continue to govern. You are more of a threat than he wants to admit, and that's why he's throwing around threats and ultimatums. An offer of possible cooperation and negotiation… it might work. I just can't say for sure.:

:Which is better than absolute assurances I would not believe,: Mihalov replied. :Do what I have asked, Theo, and convince Valhov to send you back here for another round of negotiations. If you return, we will be convinced that your intentions are at least sincere as you have stated them.:

:And if I do not return?:

:Then I will mourn your loss.:

Another pregnant pause, and then a :I will make it happen. I don't know how much time I can buy you, but I will see what I can do.:

:Thank you, Theo.: It was the least cold Mihalov had sounded since the interview began in earnest. Gloria could not really call it a negotiation. It was definitely a fascinating development.

There was murmuring, and the sound of feet shuffling, and the door closing.

The noise suddenly stopped coming through the system with a sharp click.

"Looks like they do not want us to overhear private government business," Lita commented, but she did not seem particularly bothered. After all, that was not why they were here. This part did not, nearly as much, concern them. "We will likely be summoned in a little bit for a debriefing and to give him our take on the situation."

"Should we come too?" Gloria asked.

"I think so. We all trust you, even Mihalov, and certainly Mrs. Gurina seems to. It will be faster for you to discuss with him what should or should not be reported, and how, anyway. Perhaps he can give you more specific details from what we did not see." 

* * *

In a little bit turned out to be almost an hour later, after Mihalov and the rest of the representatives finished hashing out whatever they wanted to say in their own meeting. It gave Gloria and Alexei both time to retreat upstairs, and go back over their respective notes, writing them out more neatly, with room for additions during the conversation to come. They swapped notes as well, looking at each other's interpretations, and discussing discrepancies, or places where one had noticed something the other hadn't. They talked through all those points, until they agreed consistently on what had been said and how, to make sure that there was minimal interpretation at this point in the process, and no disagreement. They would do the same when talking with Mihalov.

When they arrived in Mihalov's office, he was the only one in the room, though there were guards on the doors. Mihalov gestured for all of them to take seats in the circle of couches and chairs he had apparently had placed back in the center of the room where they had been before. Judging by the remaining disarray of chairs, Vilnius and his people had not been given such an equitable seating arrangement. Gloria was pleased to see it was almost precisely the layout she had imagined as she was listening.

A pitcher of water and glasses sat on the small round table between them.

Mihalov sat down in one of the singular chairs as those who wanted them poured glasses. :So, what are your thoughts?: he asked without preamble.

Gloria listened as first Lita, then the Cretan Ambassador brought up critical political points and observations, and the discussion went straight into the ins and outs of professional international diplomacy. The one thing they seemed to agree on without debate, was that a delay tactic would probably work as long as Valhov thought he had the upper hand and was going to get what he wanted eventually. It wasn't as if he could afford to wipe them out right now, even if he wanted to. So a waiting game played in their favor, but would seem to be to his advantage.

In the meantime she took down notes, and she noticed Alexei doing the same until finally, Mihalov turned his attention to the two of them. :So, tell me what you think.:

Not sure where he wanted her to start, Gloria decided the best thing to do was start from the top. :I think I have a lot of questions,: she admitted, :But the first thing I noticed is that you seem to know each other pretty well, you and Mr. Vilnius.:

:You caught that.: He smiled. :We've known each other ever since college, actually. Then we were both juniors in our respective government departments at the same time. Theo has been a reliable friend for as long as I have known him, and an honest man. I really have no reason to doubt what he's saying right now on any count, though that doesn't mean I haven't taken everything with a fleck of dust.:

:There's always the possibility he hasn't been told everything,: Gloria agreed. :What do you think his chances of success are?:

:Right now, as long as Valhov is thinking the way he seems to be, surprisingly good. If Valhov keeps sending him back, and whichever point things become too dangerous for him as a double agent, he can just stay here with us.:

:What if he is discovered while he is in Petrayevka?:

:He hasn't so far.:

That… was interesting. :You mean he's been working as one already.:

:That is correct. When we were fleeting the city, it was my idea for him to stay behind in the first place and work as a double agent. Or I should say, it was both of our idea. I can't say it was well thought out given we hatched it in about five minutes, but so far it does appear to be working.:

That shed a whole new light on the events they had just listened to. :So you were both acting.:

:Just a little bit.:

:For whose benefit?:

:The whole charade, really.: Mihalov took a sip from his glass. :While I do trust everyone who was in that room today, everyone needs to see the story we want them to see.:

:So why are you telling us then?: Alexei asked.

:Because what I need the outside world to see, and the inside, are not always the same.: Mihalov saluted Gloria. :I learned quite a bit about Amestris, and its people, from some of your family actually, during political negotiations. Valhov was actually one of the Ambassadors for Drachma at the time, which puts a bit of an ironic twist on things, as I never suspected him. I think no one did, and that is why we are here now. But I digress. Amestris has made it clear that while they do not want to fight our battle—for which I can hardly blame them—they consider our claim legitimate and will not support Valhov. That loyalty in itself means a lot. I am also aware that, at least in this, where Amestris goes, Creta is likely to concur.: He glanced at the Cretan Ambassador, who nodded. :You understand then, that most of what I tell you must remain secret, but to me, it is vital that you know the truth, so that eventually your countries may know the truth, at whatever points you tell me it is necessary to keep their support. Drachman politics plays with its own set of rules, but I do not expect other countries to play them. Drachma often fights dirty. I need to be transparent with you to keep your trust.:

That was a very interesting way of thinking about it, though Gloria could not disagree.

:Did you have other questions, Miss Fischer?:

:Vilnius mentioned that Valhov had promised not to harm anyone's families if you all stepped down and left the city. Do you have a family, Mr. Mihalov? I'm sorry, it's kind of a personal question."

For a moment, there was a stung look that subtly twitched across his expression, and then was gone again. "I do," he answered finally. "My wife and five-year-old daughter live in the south-west, practically on the Amestrian border, actually.:

:That's so far away!: She hadn't meant to gasp, but it had surprised her.

:Well, we've been estranged for almost three years,: he admitted then. :We're practically divorced, if you want to know the truth. Apparently I get too involved in my work.: Now there was a definite hint of resentment in his tone. Then he sighed, and he just looked defeated. :They are far outside Petrayevka, so they should be perfectly safe for the time being. There are no major military bases where they live either. I was supposed to go see them over the holiday. Right now, it's probably better for them both that everyone knows our marriage is over in all but legality. Valhov will probably leave them alone.:

Gloria was dying to know more about that story, but it would not be professional, or fair, to start digging into his personal life like a gossip magazine writer. :Have Mr. Vilnius and his aides already left?:

Mihalov nodded. :We gave them a few minutes to use the facilities, have a light snack, and be on their way. Either we will know something in the next day or less, if he has an easy way of communicating with Petrayevka, or it will be several days if he has to physically report in, which he may have to since it's difficult to carry on a private message on radio frequencies.:

Gloria didn't think they would have been allowed to wander unattended. Surely there was security with them. Especially given the secret to which they had just been invited to share. :So he'll be going back to Petrayevka.:

:That is the most likely event, yes.: Mihalov looked pleased. :If it doesn't happen, we will work with it, but Theo should be able to convince Valhov that that conversation needs to be had in person. Until then, we will continue to re-consolidate what elements of the government we can, and re-establish communications with other areas, to see who is actually backing us. From there, we can make plans to restore peace and stability, and get Valhov out of my uncle's office. After that, we can hold a proper election for his replacement.:

:You don't intend to keep it?:

He smiled at her question. :That will be up to the Drachman people.:


	12. Chapter 12

**January 5th, 1990**

There were days Winry wished it were possible to live in two places at once. She loved her home in Resembool, but there were times she truly missed living in Central. This visit was one of those times. It had been easier once, but now their family was truly evenly split between them, and the newer generation had spread out even further afield, with Minxia in Creta, and Will and Ren's other two children semi-permanently in Xing. Ethan's eldest two did not seem inclined to gravitate back towards Central anytime soon either, and Tore's eldest, and Alyse's eldest, both lived in North City.

Still, for herself, the people she missed most and wished she could see every day were in Resembool and Central. Staying in the downstairs bedroom of the house they had shared for years with their children, and then with Ethan and Lia before they moved out, everything still felt very much as if they had never really left.

It was easier, in this day of telephones and faster travel, but it still wasn't perfect.

Today they had spent the day with Franz' family, though that had been in two parts. Trisha had taken the last couple of days of the week off work because the children did not go back to school until the following Monday, so Winry and Ed had spent the day with her and they had all taken the children to the Aquarium and shopping in the mall downtown. Krista and Aithne joined them at the mall in the afternoon, and afterwards they had all returned to her house, where they ordered in Xingese for dinner and sat around talking until James—and finally Franz—joined them from Headquarters. Winry was fully aware Franz had only joined them under duress. He would spend every waking moment at work given the opportunity these days. They had barely seen him, even including holiday festivities. She understood that this was a difficult situation. In some ways, it was strange that the whole family wasn't involved, but she was relieved at that, even as she still worried for those who were on the front. Still, they would know where to find Franz if something happened, and it was a very short trip back to work if he had to go.

Still, he spent most of the end of dinner looking distracted or talking with James and Edward about politics. Winry couldn't help wondering if the conversation Alphonse and Elicia were having tonight was anything similar. They were spending the evening with Alyse, Shelby, and their family. With both Cal and Charlie and Gloria in Drachma, Winry knew there had to be a lot of tension there.

Not that she was sure how to approach it. Edward had talked to him a lot lately: about work, about life, though Ed was almost as obsessed with this Drachma mess as Franz. Almost. Winry understood that too. Even just a few years ago they had been actively involved in ending the coup in Xing and returning Ren's family to their throne. Now, they were elder folk, "out to pasture" and Ed hated it. At least, she knew he saw it that way, and that was one of the reasons he didn't want to go home yet. Alphonse seemed to feel the same, if not quite as keenly as Ed.

She didn't really mind not going home yet, but she wished Edward could accept that they were not going to be heavily involved in this, and probably never would be again. They had trained more than one generation to follow where they had led, and blaze their own way, and handle the messes of the world. Now, Ed and Al, and she, and the rest of them who had somehow miraculously survived this long, could enjoy their last years in relative peace they had more than earned!

"You're really quiet this evening, Grandma," Trisha commented. She, Krista, and Winry had retreated from the larger sitting room into the small sitting nook off the kitchen, where they could talk in peace. With the children and everyone else jabbering over each other, it had been easier than adding to the shouting and exclamations. Though it felt like the fourth empty chair belonged to someone. In her heart, it always would.

Winry chuckled. "Sorry, I was thinking about a lot of things. Where were we?"

"Finding out how to survive raising a teenage girl, I believe was the topic before we sidetracked," Krista chuckled, though she was looking back at Trisha. "I mean, I'm sure Roy's mom has tons of advice seeing as she raised three, and Mireia's only seventeen."

"She's about the age Roy and I were when they found out they were having her," Trisha commented, squeezing lemon into her cup of tea. "It's a little surreal, especially since Rosa's only five years younger." Trisha's eldest was thirteen, going on fourteen that summer. "And yes, Elena and I have talked a lot about kids over the years, but she's really great about not pushing advice on people. If I ask, she's happy to talk, but she's tried so many different things with parenting four kids, that she knows they're all different, and that the dynamics can be really varied."

"Still, anything has to be better than nothing," Krista commented. "I work with preschoolers and early elementary. I feel like I can handle almost anything that comes up through Aithne's first years, but teenagers are a mystery, which seems weird, since I was one."

"It's definitely different on the other side of the experience," Winry chuckled, remembering her own experiences. "Your mom always had a lot of Edward in her. We were close, but our interests diverged often. Aldon and I always had more in common, and Ethan was just his own person, so you could say he was more of an even mix. Aldon and Sara had almost as much influence there as we did, since he was so much younger." She looked at Trisha, who always looked to her more like Sara, and each day that just seemed clearer. "Once Sara had you, we had a lot more in common to talk about."

"Like complaining about your teenage daughters?" Trisha asked, grinning.

Winry laughed. "A little, but you and she were always more alike, and you were both pretty easy on your mothers as things go, even as teens. You were both very goal oriented and responsible. Even when you started dating. I never worried much about Sara, and she never really worried much about you and Roy. We let Ed and Franz do the worrying."

"Really?" Trisha looked a little skeptical.

"Most of the time," Winry confirmed, nodding. "Most of your mother's relationship drama happened when she was an adult, and none of it was the kind of thing that makes a mother fear much, just hurt for her. The only thing you ever did that almost gave your mother a heart attack was elope."

Trisha stirred sugar in with the lemon in her cup. "Well, I guess I can see that. So are the odds that we'll get through Rosa's high school years without going gray or bald pretty good then? It sounds like it, from a family perspective."

Winry shrugged. "Well, she is also a Mustang. Her aunts have all turned out successful and stable, but you can't count out both sides of that. Maes was a royal mess and a terrible flirt in his younger days, and the original Roy Mustang really was his own force of nature, even without the Flame Alchemy. My recommendation would be to remember that you know your own daughter, and whatever works with her now, will still work with her, as long as you're still talking to each other and you let her grow up."

"That sounds so simple until I think about putting it into practice." Trisha picked up her tea cup. "I mean, so far everything's fine. At least, it's no worse than it's been the past two years really, since we started dealing with early development. She still loves all her hobbies, and she hasn't been antagonizing her brother and sister or being extra moody or anything I'd really be worried about in Middle School. I think I'm just psyching myself out a little at this point. It's almost like it's going too well."

"Oh there will be days," Winry assured her, "because we all have them, and you'll have them with all of your children. Growing up is hard. Remembering what we dealt with is good for keeping things in perspective."

"Oh, we've already had our first middle school meltdown," Trisha assured her. "I'm just glad it wasn't over anything that required talking to the principal or anyone else's parent. I'd forgotten just how much of a frustrating mess life is at that age."

Krista nodded. "At least I can be sure Aithne's childhood will be less bizarre than mine. Not that it's a hard mark to hit."

There was that. It was easy to not think about Krista's unusual parentage, and the trauma of losing her parents, and then her grandmother, that had led to her being fostered in High School by Tore and Charisa. Winry did not want to think about how long ago that was now. Still, it did remind her of the most important point. "Any life is a good one if you're with people who love you."

 **January 6** **th** **, 1990**

Charlie Fischer was beginning to wonder how long they would be sitting in this valley, staring across the ravine and bridge, to the other side where the Drachmans were gathered. Not that he was looking forward to being stuck in a combat situation, but because there were only so many times they could go over every nut and bolt on every vehicle in the convoy, all the while finding everything in near perfect condition at this point. Not that it would stay that way if things went crazy, but at least he and the rest of his unit could rest assured that everything was in good shape for when that happened.

Charlie didn't quite dare believe that it wouldn't happen. They were in Drachma, unwelcome, and that just wasn't their luck. Charlie found he wasn't sure he was really looking forward to his first taste of combat. Even though his unit, being primarily behind-the-lines maintenance, and having a lot of lesser experienced recruits like himself, was unlikely to be pushed directly into combat, he knew it had a way of coming to you. He'd heard stories working at Briggs, and especially in the past month since returning home, given he was just barely out of basic training.

Though the trip north so far hadn't been too bad. After living at Briggs for over a year, the cold didn't bother him much, even though he still wasn't used to the weird feeling of a military-short haircut. That was what hats were for. Working with his new unit was almost like swapping lives compared to working at Briggs, however. The officers he worked for were firm, but they weren't assholes. He had received actual praise for his work so far, even if it was while going through training. His time at Briggs had saved him several months of additional training he had demonstrated he already had as a mechanic. The physical rigors of enlisting were exhausting, but his stamina had already improved, and he could work for hours with his tools and hardly notice work that had once seemed back-breaking. It was rewarding, and that made his job a million times better.

It also made things better at home. Charlie was glad they had moved back to Central. Shelby was so much happier living in his grandparents' old house, with enough room for the kids, and being closer to friends and family. She was slowly making the house theirs, and was less tired and frustrated. It was good for both of them, and their marriage. Life looked like it was moving forward again and that hope was something they had both been in sore need of.

So far, the worst part of the job was this waiting.

"What do you think is taking so long?" Charlie asked Dare Closson as they sat on top of a boulder during lunch-break, eating bowls of steaming hot noodles and beef. Dare's unit and Tore's had been working side-by-side for most of the mission so far. While Dare was his sister's age, it was nice to have a family friend around who had been in the service longer than he had, who also wouldn't think less of him for asking potentially stupid newbie questions. They had been sitting here for two days, and he had gotten no useful information other than they were waiting for Headquarters to work this out through negotiations with Petrayevka. If his father had been given any other orders, Charlie didn't know. One thing he _did_ know was that new soldiers did not walk up to Generals and ask for information they did not have clearance for. It didn't matter that his father was running this whole operation. In fact, the two of them hadn't spoken except in passing since they left Central. He understood why, and he was actually grateful. No one could say anything about favoritism or special treatment if his father ignored his existence. Charlie was suspicious he might be doing it on purpose.

Dare slowly chewed and swallowed a bite of food, deep in thought. "Diplomacy, or the lack thereof. Central is trying to convince them we're not a threat, even though we have a small military force walking through their country. Drachma is a mess, and while the new guys in the capitol don't want us here, they can't really afford a war while their military is fighting itself all over the place. If they attack us outright, Amestris can bring its entire military to bear on them and they'll be scrambling to assemble forces and mount any kind of functional resistance. If they stall, they might have time to get control of the country. They don't actually want a fight, and we don't actually want a fight, but they can't just let us walk through because they don't trust us to not start a fight siding with this Mihalov and _his_ government. Which, since he's the one who protected our people, isn't farfetched. That's why he hasn't killed Mihalov yet either. If he mounts an attack on that location, Creta and Amestris won't stand for it with their people there. He can't risk that yet. So it's really a mess. I'm glad I'm not the one who has to sort it out." He glanced over at Charlie. "Did you hear the radio broadcast last night from your sister?"

Charlie grinned, nodding. Leave it to Gloria to turn being stuck in Drachma during a coup into a career opportunity. Someone in Drachma was definitely boosting those signals, because the Amestrian radios had no problem getting the radio broadcasts coming out of Karmatsk, with Gloria and her boyfriend doing the reporting. "I'd love to know how she talked Drachmans into making her their spokesperson to the outside world."

Dare chuckled. "She's Gloria. I'm pretty sure your sister can persuade just about anyone of anything at this point. It does help that she is, legitimately, an Amestrian journalist though. She almost sounds like she's enjoying it."

The reporting certainly. Charlie had always admired his older sister. Nothing ever scared her. Nothing, except the time he'd been kidnapped as a boy and shot by the Hashman Syndicate, and she hadn't been able to stop them. "She probably is. You saw the television footage. They're working out of some kind of palatial estate, so I doubt they're living like refugees, and she's got Alexei with her."

Dare nodded. "I wonder if he got around to proposing before things blew up. We all had dinner before they left, and he was picking my brain for ideas, when Lorraine and Gloria were talking about other things, of course."

Charlie had figured out a long time ago that his sister was serious about Alexei, and that the feelings were mutual. No one made a long distance relationship work like theirs otherwise. "If he didn't, Gloria might just beat him to it."

"You're probably right."

SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK

:That's going to be interesting to get through.:

Ted looked over the ridge, using binoculars to get a better look at the walled city below them, and the soldiers ringing most of it. They had made excellent time getting to Karmatsk, despite backroads, snow, ice, and a very curious moose. Anika's assistance had been helpful on more than one occasion when negotiating with locals, or navigating roads that did not have road signs. :They've camped at least five rows of tents deep all the way around the city,: he commented aloud as he looked them over. :There's at least two-thousand soldiers down there, and some artillery though it doesn't look like they've done more than point it at the city and look threatening. They've got them blocked enough that they don't really have to do anything else to keep trade and supplies from coming in, or anyone else who fled Petrayevka trying to join Mihalov.:

:Or anyone trying to come to rescue people,: Rex quipped, sounding frustrated. :How are we supposed to get in there?:

:That is what we're going to figure out.: Caroline commented from the other side of Ted, where she was also looking through a pair of binoculars. They all had them, so it wasn't like they couldn't all see the same thing. :There are fewer men along the north-east side of the city, but that's because the terrain back there is terrible. We might have some luck there, though there's no large gates that I can see.:

Ted shifted his gaze that direction. :It's also closer to the estate. That huge house back there has almost got to be the Gurina Estate, which means if we can get in over there, we won't have to make our way through the rest of the city. Not that I expect we'll meet with problems once we get inside and tell them who we are.: They had the pocket-watches and Amestrian to prove it, so identity shouldn't be difficult. Not that he was sure yet how they were going to get the rest of the Amestrians back _out_ of the city. However, he had gotten into much more tightly watched places before, and into walled cities during coups, so he wasn't about to ruin his reputation for crazy impossible break-ins now. _I just hope I can do this sober._

:That still doesn't keep us from being really obvious going over the walls if there's no gates,: Vasti pointed out. :Or getting shot from inside the walls before we get a chance to tell them who we are.:

:This would be easier if we could let them know we were out here,: Felix suggested.

Ted agreed, however any kind of signal they might send was likely to be intercepted or noticed by the Drachmans below. They couldn't encrypt a signal from here and even if they managed it, the Drachmans would know they were there, and then it would only be a matter of time before they were discovered. As it was, that was already probably true. There was no way they weren't patrolling the hills for Mihalov allies or people attempting to sneak in and out of the city.

SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK

Alexei could only stay inside semi-idle for so long. Yes, they were doing important work, and yes there was a lot of fascinating discussion and politics going on inside the Gurina estate, but that was hardly the entire story. So as soon as it was clear that the Drachmans outside the walls were not going to start shooting, but for now were waiting them out, and waiting for a response from Vilnius that hadn't come yet, Alexei felt safe enough to wander out into the streets of Karmatsk with his camera and his notebook. The real story here was how the people of Drachma were being affected, and the only way to find that out was to talk to the regular people themselves. To watch, and listen, and ask; he was even more grateful for his own background in this because he suspected they would be more likely to talk to him than to someone who was clearly foreign.  
Even without war-damaged buildings, death, or decay, the streets of Karmatsk were a dismal place. Holiday decorations hung limply, if they had gone up at all this year, and many were crusted with frost and snow. Not a pristine, white snow, but the trampled refrozen slush of days of people going to work, trying to live their lives with the threat of possibly imminent destruction, and at the very best hard times ahead.

The first few people Alexei tried to approach had no interest in talking, but it wasn't too long before he found a little old grandmother, sitting out on her porch in a rocking chair despite the frigid temperatures, who was more than willing to fill his ear with stories of the Gurina family, and how good they had been to the people of Karmatsk, and why the folks in town were so willing to loyally follow "young Gavril" as she called him. While he had not grown up entirely in Karmatsk, since his mother had married and moved away, he had visited often as a boy, and was still considered one of the family by the local people.

:They were always generous with their wealth,: Granny Minka, as she insisted he call her, explained. :During the famine of nineteen-oh-three, they paid almost half their fortune at the time to buy food for the entire town.: Her eyes twinkled. :And yes, since I know you're too polite a young man to ask, I will tell you I was alive and remember it myself, though I was a very small girl.:

Alexei smiled graciously. Eventually, he moved on. Lots of people were willing to talk. They also seemed insistent on pressing him with food. While he did not want to offend anyone by refusing their hospitality, after a while he started insisting on a glass of water, because he was already out of room and he really did not need to stuff himself. Thankfully, no one seemed to mind much.

By late afternoon, he had interviewed nearly a dozen people, and taken two rolls of film worth of photos of the city, of its people, and of the soldiers from the walls, and through the gates. If those turned out as well as he hoped, he was going to have some very powerful images to go with the article he was already working on. It was near enough to being more of a series of essays, and possible an entire edition. It had already passed feature-length. It wasn't necessarily the kind of thing his magazine often published, but that didn't mean they might not, or that he couldn't sell it to the newspapers. It might even be enough in the end to be a book, but it was too early to make those kinds of assumptions. Then there was the fact that Gloria was doing much the same. Though since she worked for a newspaper, she had a more ready audience waiting. Technically, they would be professional competitors, but Alexei had trouble thinking of it that way. Instead, they were collaborators, and he liked discovering how well they could work together on a project, despite their different styles.

When he had left the estate, Gloria had been deep in conversation with some of the Cretan Ambassadorial staff.

It wasn't really getting late, but it was definitely getting darker out. The sun was starting to go down, and with the thick clouds above that never seemed to dissipate this far North, it got dark well before dinner.

That did not mean that the landscape around them wasn't breathtakingly beautiful. The mountains and foothills made for dramatic views. He was lining up a few scenic shots when he thought he saw something moving on one of the ridges. Hoping for local wildlife, he zoomed in as far as he could and refocused—

-only to see what looked like tiny specs holding binoculars. Startled, he tried readjusting again. They were there all right. A moment later, they ducked out of sight. Alexei had only caught a glimpse, not enough to tell friend or foe, but given they were sneaking around; he was inclined towards not-with-the-army.

* * *

:Who was that?: Anika asked suspiciously from behind the rock.

:I don't know, but he looked right at us,: Vasti commented. :He was focusing a camera. Do you think he got a picture?:

Crammed down behind the rocks with everyone else, Ted's mind was already racing with ideas. :If he's inside the city, it shouldn't matter. He won't be able to report it to anyone outside the walls, and if he tells anyone inside the walls, it might get to the right ears as long as they don't assume we're spying for the enemy.:

:Well, that's reassuring,: Caroline quipped.

:Besides, he looked familiar.: In fact, he looked surprisingly familiar. :I'm taking another look.: Going off his gut feeling, Ted sat up and pulled out his binoculars again, staring cautiously down at the man standing in the middle of an open square with a water-fountain that was turned off for the winter. That or it was frozen over. He couldn't really tell.

The tall, blond man with the camera was still looking his direction, but he had lowered the camera for a moment, giving Ted a clear view of his face. :I do know him!: he exclaimed in an excited whisper. :That's Deviatovski.:

:Who?: Rex asked.

:Alexei. He's a writer, works in North City, and he's dating Gloria Fischer. Well, that confirms that they're here. Even if he does report seeing something, he'll be reporting it right to the people we want to talk to.: If only he could find a way to signal Alexei and make it clear that it was _them._ Then he had an idea. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his State Alchemist watch.

:What are you doing?: Carolina gasped. :Are you crazy?:

:What?: Anika looked confused. :What are you doing?:

:Sending a message.: Ted waited and, sure enough, Alexei lifted his camera once more to his face. When he did, Ted sat up a little taller, hoping he was at least reasonably visible, and held up the watch, swinging slowly on its chain, before holding it still with the Amestrian lion-dragon on the front clearly visible. Then after a few seconds he jerked the binoculars back up to his face.

* * *

Alexei knew at once what he was seeing. He couldn't quite make out _who_ was on the ridge, but that was a State Alchemist's watch, no doubt about it. That meant that at least someone had made it this far North. He knew from news they were still getting through intelligence, however spotty, and what they were allowed from Petrayevka, that the Amestrians were still supposed to be stalled somewhere south of the city. That meant that this group was likely much smaller, specialized, and scouting, more than a full rescue party.

That meant they had identified him as not a threat, which meant it was possible someone up there knew who he was. For a moment, Alexei wondered if the Whitewater Alchemist could be up there, but he dismissed that thought almost at once. Gloria's father wouldn't be here. They wouldn't let a General run off into the wilds like that. More likely they had been briefed on who to look for and given pictures.

In either case he needed to find a way to signal them back without giving them away. Then he had an idea that he only hoped would work, even though it would mean sacrificing a few shots. His camera had a flash. Raking his mind trying to remember old military codes, he debated if he could send a message, and what it would say. It would have to be short. Then he realized his flash didn't really work for that. It only had one length. Still, it was what he had to work with. He flipped on the flash, and took three shots with it on, and waited.

From up above, the person waved.

They were going to need a way into town, and the Embassy needed to know they were here. Alexei pondered the options. The most logical one would be for them to go around the back of the city, even though there was no road there. The Gurina Estate was close to the main wall up against the mountains there, and while there were still soldiers due to the opening in the valley on the other side, going over the wall straight into the estate would be less dangerous. At least, they could maybe have back-up from inside the city. Alexei raised one hand up as if he were shading the camera from the sun, then pointed towards the north-east.

That earned him another wave, which he took to mean the person on the ridge understood. It occurred to him then that there was a better way to write a message. As there was no one currently standing nearby, he started scraping the snow beneath his feet with his boots, spelling out very simply "Back Wall Gate 11." He knew from his explorations that there _was_ an old escape gate out the back wall from the Gurina estate. Every smart family had one, it was just difficult to get to, hard to see, and had to be opened from the inside. He looked back through his camera, and saw the figure wave again affirmatively, then disappear. After several seconds, it was clear he was unlikely to appear again.

Alexei quickly scuffed the message until it once again looked like walked on slush. Turning down a side street, he made his way around casually, took a few more pictures in case anyone had observed him taking pictures of the mountains, and then headed back towards the estate. It was almost five now, which meant he needed to make sure that gate was working and accessible in the next six hours.

* * *

:It's great that we know there's a gate and all, but where are we going to find it? And how are we going to get through ranks of Drachman soldiers to get there _without_ noticeable use of alchemy?: Vasti asked skeptically as they huddled in the shadows of the rocks and snow.

Ted was still reveling in their good fortune, which had given him a confidence boost that this was imminently doable. :It's simple,: he told her, which elicited several surprised expressions. :We're going to walk right through them.:


	13. Chapter 13

**Still January 6** **th** **, 1990**

Gloria's heart was racing as she helped Alexei and a handful of the staff from the estate with clearing years of untrimmed brambles away from the inside of the gate that led to the outside wall. She had been as surprised as anyone else when Alexei had immediately demanded an audience with Mihalov, Lita, and the Cretan Ambassador, and no one had even questioned her following them all into the room when he had explained spotting the Amestrians through his camera, and the identification of the Amestrian State Alchemist Pocket Watch. When he had explained his reasoning and method of identification, they had all agreed that it was not some Zinovek trick. None of them would be able to even remotely replicate a State Alchemist's watch. Not convincingly. Alexei had been given thanks and appreciation for his work, and some admiration for the quality of his equipment.

Now, they had to make the gate accessible. On the other side, it was hardly visible, and hidden in the rocks and brambles that had grown up on the other side over the years. She knew Alexei felt bad he could not give the alchemists more information on how to find the gate, or anything else resembling a plan, but it was what they had. If they were out there, Gloria could only trust that her father had sent the most capable team available. Which meant, while she couldn't guess who was there, she might know some of them.

Thick gloves helped protect them from the brambles, which looked like some sort of overgrown rosebushes, but with thorns almost two inches long. Gloria could only presume that they were much lovelier in the spring and summer. Right now, they were going at them with clippers and axes, re-clearing a narrow walkway that had once existed, but was now almost invisible. They had been working for almost two hours, and Gloria was beginning to wonder if they would ever find the door, or if they were even hacking in the right place. She was cold, and even bound in winter clothes, her feet and fingers and nose were going numb.

"You don't have to do this," Alexei reminded her when the paused for a moment to let the gardener with the axe hack through another thick branch. He was panting too, and his breath misted in the cold night air, visible in the light from the lanterns they had brought out with them.

"What? You think I can't?" she asked, a little more sharply than she had intended.

"No, not at all. Sorry," he apologized at once. "I just meant it's frigid out here, and there are a lot of tasks you could be doing tonight that are more important than this."

"Like what?"

"Helping with Mihalov's next speech, or with the plan for what we're supposed to do once this Alchemists join us, for a couple"

"You aren't needed out here either," Gloria pointed out. Frustrated, she turned and looked him straight in the eyes. "Look, I don't know what's going on in your head but don't start coddling me now. I am more than capable of doing a little _gardening._ It's nice to get to attack something for a change anyway. I'm sure you feel the same. We're finally getting to do something directly, action, exertion. We've been sitting around in here for days thinking, and over thinking. A good, solid, mindless, productive activity that is also going to help things is what we all need right now. So if you try and send me inside again I will slug you. Got it?"

For several seconds, Alexei stared at her, wide-eyed. Then he smiled. "Yes, _tsveta,_ I understand perfectly."

* * *

The plan was, in itself, not complicated. The State Alchemists plus one had not had much trouble getting around the ridge by following an old track that had probably belonged to shepherd's at one point, and had identified where they thought the most likely location of this gate was given the landscape and where the manor house was located. As it got darker, the few moving lights out in the gardens were also a really good clue. Hiding in the hills, Ted was fairly certain his idea would work.

"We're going to walk right through them," was a statement that had been met at first with disbelief, then skepticism, before he finished explaining. It was still crazy, but then, most of Ted's plans usually were.

This one was mostly a plan of concealment in plain sight. They didn't have time for elaborate costumes, or stealing uniforms off the Drachmans below, so they had to have another plan. Rex was going to use his less-used aspect of his water alchemy to create a heavy wet, obscuring fog. Then, Vastillia was going to send out an electric pulse that would short-circuit and put out as many lights as possible in the camp. In the obscuring darkness and fog, the Amestrians and Anika would slip through the camp, following a path that was slightly circuitous, but went through areas that should be the least populated at this hour anyway. Once they got to the brambles near the wall, they should be able to duck out of sight. If they needed to move bracken and plants to find the door well, that was what Felix was for.

They would have to leave the truck hiding up in the hills, but as it was now empty of all critical radio equipment—except the last bits they had stored in their packs on their backs with the rest of their supplies— it was no great loss and could be reclaimed later. If they needed to come back out the same way, there was also that option that it might still be waiting.

:This has to be the weirdest thing I have ever heard of,: Anika commented from Ted's side as the alchemists prepared. :You do this kind of thing all the time?:

:Well, not this exact plan, but yes, we do a lot of improvising.: Ted smiled reassuringly at her. Given the complicated relationship between Drachma and its alchemists, Ted had been pretty surprised by how accepting Anika had been so far. Though this would be the first time she had seen any major alchemy in action. :Remind me to tell you later about how I broke into the Imperial City of Xing and snuck into the Palace. Compared to that, this should be easy.:

Anika looked like she wasn't quite sure whether or not to believe him. :Let's do this then.:

After that, it was just a matter of putting the plan into action. The night was frigid, the sky was already thick with clouds that reflected the city lights back down at them, turning the entire snowy landscape a subtle blush, except where shadows stood out as stark blank spaces. It was in one of these that they hid as Rex and Vasti drew their circles.

:Ready when you are, Proteus.: Rex said.

Vasti nodded that she was also ready.

When Ted gave the signal, everything happened quickly. Rex went first, transmuting the water around them until it began to condense in a thick fog that covered the ground and rose almost eight feet in the air, then spread out through the camp in either direction for almost a hundred yards. Right after, Vasti began her transmutation, and as Ted watched through his binoculars, a bunch of lights surged, flashed, and went out at once. Here and there, one or two remained, but almost everything below them was nothing but a mass of wavering gray that might as well be black for all it was impossible to see through. It was a good thing they had made a map. :All right. Let's go. Everyone follow me.:

Ted scrambled down the rocks, with the others right behind him: first Felix, then Vasti, than Caroline, than Anika, and Rex holding down the back end. As they got closer, voices rose out of the fog blanket that was so thick, Ted almost felt like he could feel it inside him as he breathed. The thought made him shudder, though he was impressed with Rex's thoroughness. He followed the map in his head that he had carefully noted earlier, remembering distances, keeping to steps, avoiding areas that were particularly heavily populated in the camp. The lights going out had caused a couple dozen people to stir, and he heard exclamation and curses about lamps, and comments about the fog. A few people were moving around, but the path they had chosen—which he could just see as they approached most of the specific tents or other objects like vehicles—remained mostly clear. They walked with a few feet between them, trying to stay where they could see each other, but not so close that they were obviously a line of people moving through the camp.

Walking upright, and wrapped in Drachman attire, Ted could only hope anyone glimpsing their forms would assume they were members of the military, maybe the evening patrol. Though they had also planned their walk through to avoid the ones they had seen watching them earlier. Ted would have liked more time to analyze their movements, but there was something exciting about slipping through the darkness.

:Hey you!:

Shit. Ted turned as someone moved quickly up through the darkness in front of him. Behind him, he heard footsteps cease, and he hoped everyone else was hard to see in the fog as whoever it was approached them. Ted did not attempt to pretend he hadn't heard the man. He just went on a hunch, and saluted. :Sir!:

This seemed to be the right response. :What's going on out here?: the man demanded. As he came out of the fog, Ted could just barely discern rank on his shoulder, making the man a Drachman Lieutenant. Not a higher-up, thankfully, but enough to make trouble. :Have you seen anything? Why are you by the Mess at this hour?:

:No, Sir,: Ted replied. :Was on my way to the privy when the lights went out, Sir. Got a little turned around in this damned fog.:

The Lieutenant scowled. :You don't sound familiar, what unit are you with? What's your rank and identification?:

:Private Stepanoch, with the Second Company, Wolf Battalion: Ted blurted out the first name that came to mind, coupled with one of the Companies Anika had identified for him earlier. If he was reading the insignia on this guy right in the fog, he was with a different unit altogether. :Just got out of basic training a few weeks ago, Sir.:

His quick response seemed to satisfy the Lieutenant. :Your sense of direction is bad even for someone wandering in a fog, Private. Wolf is camped a hundred yards that way." He gestured off the way Ted had come from.

Ted glanced that way and tried to look grateful, just in case the man could make out anything about his scarf-covered face in the darkness. He nodded. :Thank you, Sir. I'll head back to camp now, Sir.: The Lieutenant did not really rank that many Sirs, but Ted knew from experience that any lower officer didn't mind a little extra respect, and a new private was low enough that a Lieutenant might as well be a General.

:Good, Private. Do keep from getting lost a second time.: Then, without waiting for Ted to respond, he turned and headed back the way he had come, vanishing into the shadows.

Only then did Ted breathe. He turned left, continuing on the path he had originally intended, and after a few seconds he could occasionally hear a step behind him.

It took almost twenty minutes to reach the first brambles in the rocks outside the city walls. Ted wound his way around a few boulders until he hit the first bush, then stopped and waited. A few seconds later, Felix joined him. They said nothing until everyone had come around the corner and was visible.

:That was some quick thinking,: Felix chuckled in a near-whisper. :I really thought we'd had it for a second. I guess I shouldn't be surprised by anything you do by now.:

:Nah, but you will be anyway.: Ted grinned and glanced down at his watch, which he could barely make out in the darkness. Being just beyond the fog, it was easier. :Now we just need to get to the wall, and find that door. It's ten-thirty, so we have half an hour. Tringham, it's your turn.:

Felix nodded before he pulled out a glove that had a transmutation circle on it, and slid it on his hand in place of the Drachman one he had been wearing. He placed one hand around a thick branch of the bramble patch, gripping it, and closed his eyes. After a moment's concentration, the plants began to shift softly, almost as if there was a wind blowing, then crawl and twist out of the way, making a narrow path through them directly to the wall. Ted waited, counting out thirty seconds before Felix stopped.

Ted led the way again, walking through the tunnel that was just barely big enough for the tallest and widest of them to pass, which was not very large or tall, given no one in the team was particularly large. When he reached the wall he looked left and right, realizing that Felix had also freed the area along the wall of a stretch about two feet wide, going in both directions. When they were all together again, Felix closed the path out so no one could follow them. :Spread out, and feel the wall as you go,: Ted ordered softly. :Feel at different heights for anything at all uneven in the stones. Latches, hinges, anything. It probably won't be obvious from this side. If you find something, signal and we'll check it out.:

So they spread out. Ted, Anika, and Rex headed to the left, and Vasti and Felix went to the right. It was not fast going, feeling along in the dark. Several times Ted thought he might have found something only to identify it as a chip in the stone, or a dead lump of moss. He tried not to glance at his watch too often, but the time seemed to be slipping through their fingers.

With just a couple of minutes to eleven, he heard a low whistle from Felix: the signal. Nodding back the way they had come, he followed Rex and Anika back to where they had entered and beyond. They walked almost forty yards before they found Felix and Vasti.

:This is it.: Felix sounded confident. He knocked on the stone, and the other side sounded hollow, not at all like rock.

:Sounds promising,: Caroline agreed. :Is there a handle of any kind?:

:None,: Vasti replied. :But we found what looks like part of a seam here.: She pointed to a slim edge between mortar and stones that could have been a natural crack.

:Well, keep knocking,: Ted suggested. :If they told us to meet them here, than it stands to reason someone is waiting for us.: That was the hope anyway. If they had somehow misinterpreted the message, than they might be in a lot of trouble. There was little chance of them making it back through the camp without being found out.

Felix knocked loudly, then louder still. It sounded far too clear in the silence around them.

Then it sounded like something was sliding, and then the wall shifted, and the door in front of them slowly recessed several inches before folding inward.

Ted had no idea who the Drachman standing inside the door was, but the middle-aged man smiled. :Welcome, good sirs and ladies. You are expected. Please, follow me.:

* * *

As always, her cousin had managed to come up with a crazy, brilliant plan, and it had turned out successful. Gloria had refrained from hugging Ted when he and his team came through the gate. There would be time for family reunions later. The hidden door was returned, and then she, Alexei, and the estate staff who had assisted with the door access escorted the Alchemists and their Drachman guide to the back doors of the palace. They were surrounded by four armed guards, who also took hold of the Drachman guide's gun, but no one seemed particularly concerned about them. It was to be expected.

They were led immediately to the office, where Mihalov, Lita Chalmers, and Herme Lastobar were waiting. Gloria was only a little surprised to see Mrs. Gurina there as well, but she supposed to made sense since this was her home, and they were all her guests.

Gloria and Alexei stepped off to one side as Ted and the others came to stand in front of Mihalov.

Ted snapped off a quick salute. :Lieutenant Colonel Ted Elric, Proteus Alchemist, and my team, at your service, Sir.:

Gavril Mihalov stepped forward and offered a hand outstretched. "Welcome, Ted Elric. I look forward to hearing how you managed to be the first to get passed our unwanted guests outside."

Ted chuckled and took the man's hand in a hearty shake. "I look forward to telling it. We've been sent here by General Fischer and President Heimler with information and a new communications relay we've been setting up all the way here."

Mihalov's expression lit up. "A truly unexpected gift. Before we go further however, I am afraid I need to know who your other companion is." He nodded towards the Drachman woman, who had taken off her hat to reveal striking near-white hair.

She came forward, bowing her head respectfully. :I am Anika Marskaya. I came looking for my father. We have heard no news of him since the attack on Petrayevka. My brothers and I have been fighting off Zinovek sympathizers for weeks. That is how I came to run into these State Alchemists as they passed through. I offered them guidance and assistance in exchange for passage. Please tell me, is there any news from my father, General Vichel Marskaya?:

Gloria did not know who General Marskaya was, but it was clear from the reactions of Mihalov and Mrs. Gurina, and even the Ambassadors, that the name was well known in the right circles.

:I have worked with your father,: Mihalov nodded. :I am sorry to inform you that he is not here.:

:He was not listed among the dead in the news,: Anika replied, looking concerned. :He would never have gone along with this coup nonsense.:

:He would not,: Mihalov agreed. :I wish I had better news for you, Miss Marskaya, but we have heard no news of him either from any of our intelligence sources.:

Anika looked worried, but her expression steeled into resolve quickly. :Then consider me at your disposal. I wish to remain here and assist however I can, at the very least until we can find out what has become of my father. My gun is yours.:

Mihalov smiled kindly. :I appreciate your offer. We need all the support we can get.: He looked at Ted, slipping back into Amestrian. "What are your orders now that you're here, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"Please, just call me Proteus," Ted grinned. "We're to help secure the lines of communication, hold position and protect and support this location for as long as our Embassy and the Cretan Embassy are located here. If we need to move people out to protect them, that is also part of our standing orders. Unless Valhov manages to start a war with Amestris, we are here in a defensive capacity, but you can rest assured that we take that to mean that we are defending everyone in your city, not just our own people."

Those were some interesting guidelines, Gloria thought. Mihalov seemed to agree. "I am glad to hear it, Proteus. I know you have come a long way, and it's late. Your compatriots will show you to rooms in the Amestrian wing." He turned to his aunt. :Where shall we put Miss Marskaya, Auntie?:

Mrs. Gurina smiled. :I have met Vichel Marskaya. He was a good friend to Ermolai, and came to visit more than once. If you like, Anika, you may have his room. It is just down the hall from mine.:

:Thank you, Mrs. Gurina, that will be more than I need,: Anika assured her.

Mihalov turned back to the alchemists. "I am very eager to hear your full story and do a proper debriefing, but we will do it in the morning. I wish for you to join me for breakfast. Why don't all of you?" He looked around the room. "That way we can all get the story at once. It will be most efficient, and I suspect, entertaining."

That got a lot of grins from the alchemists, and a chuckle from one of the men that Gloria recognized; Felix Tringham.

Ted nodded. "Thank you, Chairman. We would be honored."

Once the meeting wrapped up, Gloria, Alexei, and Lita showed the alchemists to the Amestrian wing, and the bedrooms. While there were not tons of rooms left, there were enough for Ted to have his own room. Felix and Rex were sharing one that had two full beds, and Vastillia and Caroline would share another that was similar. Gloria and Alexei showed them the baths and the sitting room, and then most everyone split up for the night as it was now after midnight.

She was startled when Ted stopped in the hallway for a moment and pulled her into a tight hug, which she returned. They had known each other their whole lives and even though they were technically second cousins that never seemed to mean much in their family. "Well, that was touching," she smiled at him when they parted.  
Ted grinned. "Well, only part of that's from me, Cuz. A lot of people told me to hug you when I saw you, so at least some of that hug is from your mother, your brother, your father, Great-Uncle Alphonse, and Great-Aunt Elicia and you know, a few dozen family members, but I'm really glad to see you're okay." He glanced over at Alexei, who was still there. "You too."

Gloria looked at her fiancé, who looked bemused, but nodded. "I'm impressed you got here," Alexei commented. "I wasn't sure you understood my message."

"It was actually pretty clear," Ted replied. "Good, fast thinking there. We were fortunate that you were out today. We never would have found that gate if you hadn't told us it was there."

"And I only knew because I was out that day, and I had talked to a lot of people who have worked on the grounds," Alexei chuckled. "Five more alchemists on our side definitely tips the scales in our favor."

"Against a couple thousand Drachman troops? You bet."

Gloria refrained from eye-rolling. "Glad to see you're as confident as ever. Well you two can pat yourselves on the back all you like. _I_ am going to bed. Good night, Ted. Good night." She stretched up and gave Alexei a quick kiss, then headed into her room. Just having the alchemists here, she did feel more confident about their chances even knowing that they were technically just five skilled people. Those five skilled people were better than a few hundred soldiers when it came to usefulness, and she had learned that having State Alchemists around was better than any secret weapon.


	14. Chapter 14

**January 7** **th** **, 1990**

While his father-in-law and Valhov were wrangling at the highest levels, and their men were sitting at a stand-still in the valley, Roy Mustang was actually enjoying himself. Whitewater's instructions to make the Drachmans uncomfortable without being able to blame Amestris had turned out to be a lot of fun for him and his team of alchemists. Unexplained small avalanches dumping hundreds of pounds of snow and ice that destroyed dozens of tents and buried vehicles; nights when their fires just wouldn't stay lit for wind or inexplicably wet wood, or where they would flare randomly out of control, catching the unwary or things nearby on fire. They were careful that nothing near the Drachmans would bear the marks of transmutation, and it was never at the same time of day, or necessarily a specific part of camp. They spread out the suffering fairly evenly, but he was sure that they had made the Drachmans very uncomfortable. One of his favorites was the minor earthquake that had only affected their side of the ravine, and had tipped over several latrines on the Drachman side. It was great practice at subtle, effective alchemy, and Roy and his team were having fun with it, which was far better than sitting, twiddling their thumbs and trying to keep busy, which was what so many of the others were doing.

It also kept him from having too much time wondering what Trisha and his kids were up to. He had missed the holidays, and they would be back in school now. Rosa's Middle School had a dance coming up in a few weeks, and he could only imagine how many boys would be lining up to ask out his little girl; and how frustrating it would be not to be there to terrify whichever one she agreed to, if she accepted any invitations. He was grateful that, so far, his daughter did not seem particularly over-concerned with boys, or fashion. She was much like her mother, and her grandmothers; practical. It was one of the few things that allowed him to sleep at night.

"How long are we going to sit here, Sir?" he asked Whitewater as they sat in the command tent, looking over the map they had drawn of the valley; the map Roy felt he had more than memorized. "Is there something about these negotiations we aren't hearing? This seems like a rather cut-and-dry situation at this point. Valhov can't control the country yet, and we've asked only for very basic permissions. Either we move through, or we blow things up. I'm beginning to think we'd get further if something just blew up." Something on their side, not obviously linked to alchemy, but that would be more of a set-back… like their artillery. Roy was reasonably sure he could hit it at distance.

Cal Fischer looked as frustrated as Roy felt, but he knew that was only because Cal knew Roy wouldn't say anything outside the tent. Still, Fischer shook his head. "No, you know all of our critical orders, and no I cannot allow you to blow stuff up, even if it would be satisfying. Not yet, anyway. Until Heimler says otherwise, or they shoot first, our hands are tied here." Then he smiled. "I do have some good news, though. This morning, Proteus contacted me."

Now _that_ was news. "Did they make it?"

Whitewater nodded. "They made it inside Karmatsk last night with a little ingenuity and subtle alchemy, with the Zinovek soldiers none the wiser."

Roy chuckled. He had been with Ted when his wife's cousin had discovered his crazy knack for breaking and entering in a war zone. "That's good to hear. So the new radio towers are working."

Another nod. "They reached out to Central after we spoke, and I heard from Heimler that contact was made. It doesn't change what we're doing here for the moment, but there is progress being made, and he thinks we are near something happening. Valhov's changed his tone a bit in private negotiations, so hopefully we'll be on our way in the next couple of days."

"Forward or backward?" Roy asked. He knew it would take a lot to convince Franz Heimler and the Assembly to pull their men back out of Drachma without reparations for the murders, and without their Embassy and known civilians.

"No official word, but I'd bet a good bottle of scotch on forward."

"Sounds tasty." Roy grinned. "I'd bet against you, except I agree, so I'd lose."

Fischer leaned back in his chair. "Let's just hope we're not both wrong."

"If we are, we'll split it."

"You're on."

* * *

Franz' office was beginning to look more like intelligence headquarters than the investigations offices were, he mused, as he looked around the cramped space. Normally it seemed the most spacious office—and outer offices—in the building, but now there were rows of tables and desks covered in equipment that was constantly scanning radio frequencies and television signals coming in and out of Drachma, and there were now four separate phone lines patched in besides the main number to make sure that the primary line was left open for direct communication with Valhov, should the Drachman ever come to the point of conversing by voice instead of through more old-fashioned wire messaging. There was a station for that too. Franz had insisting on having it all in one place, so nothing got missed and he was there in case anything came through that needed immediate attention.

He hadn't been home in days, but he didn't need to. He had clothes kept here, and there were showers in the gymnasium, and the cafeteria if he needed food, though James had brought him home-cooked meals more than once that he and Krista had prepared.

Right now, he sat staring at a television that was showing Drachman commercials, but would shortly be showing the nightly news. He had gotten a wire from Valhov's offices that morning, telling him to be watching tonight, because he intended to make a public statement that he was sure Amestris would find very informational.

Franz had no idea what the man intended to do, but he was watching. He also knew that the Assembly had scheduled an evening session to watch the same broadcast live into the Assembly hall. Others in Headquarters were likely watching as well, though he doubted anyone in Amestris who did not follow Drachman broadcasts already would know until the Amestrian press picked up on whatever it was.

The news began, with the usual basic report about how things were going with subduing the militant uprisings all over the country, which was being reported by the government as going much more successfully than intelligence was telling Franz. Propaganda at its finest. Then they announced a special report tonight, a speech from High Commander Valhov.

What came on screen next was not at all what Franz—or his staffers and intelligence officers who had gathered around—were expecting. For one thing, the place he was standing seemed to be a room with no natural light, but just a couple of very dingy yellow ceiling lights. The wall behind him looked like old stone or brick, and the camera was quite close on his face, but also seemed to be hand-held.

"Greetings," Valhov said in thickly accented, but very understandable Amestrian. "Tonight I wish to make a very direct statement to President Heimler of Amestris. For several days now, the President has attempted to claim that his forces, which are illegally even now on Drachman soil, are there for peaceful purposes. Yet, he sends men with weapons and artillery, ready for combat. Defensive he claims, but he shows no trust that I will, in good faith, abide by my word to restore Drachma to peace and prosperity. They would see us fail, and throw all of Drachma into a downward spiral of internal destruction. So tonight, I am offering a final ultimatum to you, Mister Franz Heimler. Our negotiations are over. You will remove your men from Drachma immediately, or our most valuable hostage will lose her life."

"Hostage?" Anastas snorted, looking puzzled. "What hostage? We know for a fact that Gloria Fischer, and all of the surviving Embassy members, are in Karmatsk. We just confirmed it!"

Franz felt a cold trickle of dread. Who the hell could Valhov be holding hostage that he thought he could use them as leverage against, not just Amestris, but _him_ personally? There was no one in the world he cared enough for to negotiate with a man he considered a traitor and a terrorist leader.

Valhov was grinning broadly now. "I think you will find our offer more convincing now, but I will not push you. I have been patient. You have three days for your men to retreat, or I will kill your wife: Sara Elric Heimler."

An expletive unbecoming a world leader—several in fact—came out of Franz's mouth as he stared, disbelieving, at the screen. "What is he trying to pull?" He felt a rush of anger, mingled with twisted amusement. "The entire world knows Sara's been dead for almost eight years."

"I am sure you do not believe me," Valhov went on smoothly. "That is why I have brought our camera here, to give you proof." With that, the image swung from Valhov to a stairwell, which they went down, and then at metal cell door with a slit in it, and the camera moved closer until it could peer through the slit in the dim light. Inside there was stirrings and murmuring, and then there was a woman on screen who, even in the dim, fuzzy image, _could have_ been Sara's twin. At least, it seemed to Franz…and only if she were rail-thin, near-bald, and filthy.

They heard a kick at the door, and the woman cringed, and cried out in Drachman, though Franz understood the words _no, stop, please no more!_ The voice could have been Sara's, if it were roughened, stripped of its music, and in Drachman.

It could be her, except it _couldn't_ be her. Sara was dead. Franz had dressed her body himself, had seen her corpse, had watched her be buried in the ground, along with his heart, and a part of his soul. That Valhov would try to exploit a woman who was clearly tortured and in pain, and had been for a long time—that Valhov would try and use her to manipulate _him_ —it made him angrier than he thought he had possibly ever been, except for the hatred he had felt for the Hashman Syndicate the day Sara died.

There was no way it was her, and yet there was something haunted and terrified in the eyes of the woman in the cell, in the aching hopelessness in her voice. He couldn't let Valhov do this to anyone, Sara or not. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right. "I'd like to wring his neck," he muttered, before he realized that everyone was staring at him. At some point, he had come to his feet, and his hands were clenched tightly, so tightly they were trembling.

He was getting a lot of stares. "It can't be her," Colonel Wilkins commented, but he looked doubtful as he stared up at Franz. "Can it… Sir?"

Valhov wasn't finished yet. The camera swung back around to his face, which was no longer smiling, but dead serious. "I mean it, Heimler. Three days to get out of Drachman business, or she dies. Do you really want to be responsible for the death of this woman? If your soldiers don't leave, they'll be next. I will destroy them where they stand, and there will not be any way you can stop us. I await your call."

The broadcast swapped back to the news, where the anchor was now briefly summarizing the threat—very heavily biased and with some editing—in Drachman for the local population. Franz didn't care. He was no longer listening to anything except the pounding of his own heartbeat as it surged through him, throbbing in his ears, and anger and pain and disbelief throbbed in his every pore.

Sara was dead. Horribly, irrevocably dead; but _everyone_ knew that, so why would Valhov made such a ludicrous claim? It was entirely out of character unless…. But it was impossible. _Is it?_ A little voice of doubt whispered in the back of his head. _The building was on fire, the corpse was damaged. Can you be absolutely certain?_ Except he had been. He and Ethan both had seen her dead body up close. It had been the most agonizing moment of his life, a series of them, each worse than the last, from the moment the news reported the attack to the moment she was buried in the ground, and every one after that reminded him of the vibrant, brilliant, glorious woman that he had the honor of loving.

Yet Valhov was saying otherwise. If this woman—this innocent woman, whoever she was—was not Sara, than she was a pawn, and she would die for absolutely nothing. If it was Sara… he would be directly responsible for her death—again. Was he willing to take that risk?

He did not get to answer himself, as there was a knock at the door, and then Tore's head appeared in the doorway as it opened. Tore looked equally shell-shocked. "President Heimler, the Assembly wants to talk to you."

* * *

The Assembly Hall was in an uproar when Tore arrived with Franz. They had walked through the hallways in silence. Tore had dozens of questions, but the look on his friend's face made it clear that now was very much not the time to attempt to ask any of them. Besides which, he would probably hear those answers in a few moments, because the Assembly would ask them.

He was right, because the first thing they wanted to know was how the hell Valhov could even make such a ludicrous claim, that he had a hero of Amestris—a _dead_ hero of Amestris—trapped in a cell somewhere in Drachma and was using her as leverage against the State by attacking Franz personally. They wanted to know if it was even remotely possible, and they wanted to know what Franz intended to do about it.

Tore sat in his usual seat for when he attended, and glanced across at Charisa, who looked as dumbfounded as the rest of them. Of course, Sara and Charisa had always had a special friendship. It had been Sara who introduced the Bredas to Charisa and Niam when they were newly-orphaned children, and that had led to their adoption. Despite the age difference, they had become friends over the years that followed. This had to be hurting her as much as it was hurting him. What he could scarcely imagine was what was going on in Franz's head right now, or his heart. It was impossible and ludicrous, yet even Tore found himself running through scenarios of how it might, even remotely, be plausible that the woman they had all seen in that dim cell, through slightly static-y television signals, was the indomitable, unbreakable, General Sara Elric Heimler, Twilight Alchemist.

He watched Franz, holding it together, explain that there was no reason to believe Valhov's claim. He had seen his wife's body himself. It had been identified by physicians. She was dead. The finality in that statement sounded raw, and there was definitely fury behind those normally kind, brown eyes. "But that doesn't mean we can let him do it!" he finally said, with a surprising vehemence. "This woman, whoever she is, does not deserve to be murdered in a ploy to manipulate us. We cannot lose focus of the true objective, which is to rescue our people, and Creta's people, without bloodshed if possible. If we wait three days, he will kill this woman, and then he will attack, and we will be in direct conflict anyway. If she dies, she dies for nothing. There is no scenario otherwise. If she dies, Valhov will say we don't really care about people besides our own, or possibly not even ours, because he will continue to claim that she was Sara, and that I allowed her to die, no matter if it is at the orders of the Assembly or my own convictions."

"What would you have us do then?" the Senior Speaker asked.

That was where Franz seemed to lose steam. "I wish I had an answer," he replied honestly. "The right thing to do would be to somehow mount a rescue, to remove this woman from his control no matter who she is, because no one deserves this kind of death."

"We don't even know where she is," another Assemblyman pointed out, her dark eyes sympathetic, but her tone critical.

"Now, that is not entirely true," Franz corrected her. "We've been tracking their television signals, radio signals, everything we can, for some time. We've had time to locate most of their points of origin. While this was obviously not in the studio, if Valhov was there, we have every reason to believe that the prisoner must be somewhere in or near Petrayevka. There's no way Valhov would have gone far outside the city in the current political climate. With a little more time, I expect our investigations team will have pinpointed a smaller search area, possibly within a couple of blocks, or maybe the specific building. Our analysts are on it even while we speak here."

"War if we do, war if we don't," the Senior Speaker sighed. Tore nodded. It had to be what they were all thinking. The only way they would not start a conflict was if they did what Valhov was demanding, and retreated, left Drachma, and sat and waited out a revolution and civil war that could last for years.

Retreating was one thing they could not afford to do. If they did, they would never get men into Drachma again, and they would be leaving Proteus's team trapped with the ambassadors. Tore was reasonably certain that telling Cal to abandon his daughter in Drachma would start a mutiny.

"We cannot negotiate with this man," Franz continued staunchly. "He gave us three days to respond, and I intend to make full use of them to come up with a plan, and put it into action. That is, if I have the Assembly's permission."

They must have talked about this at least some while Tore was bringing Franz, because there were a lot of knowing nods, and the Speaker turned to Franz. "It is the Assembly's feeling that in this matter, your judgment will handle it. We leave this in the hands of you, and your Generals."

"Thank you, esteemed members of the Assembly," Franz spoke. "We won't let you down."

* * *

Ethan was just finishing dinner when the phone rang.

"I'll get it," Aeddan bounced up from the couch where he was reading one of his college textbooks, and made it across the room before Ethan could budge.

He grinned. Probably a friend of his son's anyway.

"Oh, hey, Uncle Franz." That was not what Ethan had expected to hear. He looked up from the table as his son turned and held out the receiver. "It's for you, Dad."

"Thanks." Ethan got up and took the phone. "What's up?" he asked, assuming it had something to do with work, or the mess in Drachma. If Franz was calling, it might be a medical question, or an alchemical one. He really didn't know.

"Did you see the Drachman news tonight?" Franz asked.

Ethan paused. "No, I didn't." He usually saw the Drachman feeds when they replayed them later that evening on the ten o'clock news. He had missed tonight's normal Amestrian national report because he had been at the hospital checking on patients. "What's going on?"

The pause on the other end made him nervous. "Ethan… is there any chance the body we saw… wasn't Sara's?"

"What?" Ethan stared at the phone for a moment, wishing he could see Franz's face, figure out what he was thinking. "That's a crazy question." It was also a painful one. Of course he had seen Sara's body. He had repaired it for the funeral, so she wouldn't look so burnt and damaged.

"I know it's crazy," Franz replied, speaking quietly. "Just tell me if it's possible."

He wanted to exclaim that of course it wasn't possible, but then he knew that Franz knew that as well as he did. Which meant, if he was asking, there was some reason to speculate. He stopped, and considered. "It was pretty damaged, but they found the body right where Sara fell. I mean, unless someone managed to swap her with a dead ringer look-alike, it has to have been her." It was hard to think back that far now. He hadn't just assumed at the time, because it looked like her. Then he had repaired the damage….but using the mental image in his head. What if she had been different before that? "Unless it wasn't and I just made it more convincing. There was a lot of cell degradation and deterioration by the time I got her. What's going on here, Franz?"

"Valhov just broadcast across international news that he's holding Sara hostage and will kill her in three days, live. He showed a woman in a cell."

A woman who had to look and sound something like Sara, or Franz wouldn't even be questioning. The idea that they would even pretend to have Sara was ludicrous, which somehow made it… not really possible, but plausible, maybe. Except it wasn't. Ethan rubbed his forehead. "Well there's a headache."

"Tell me about it," Franz commented bitterly. "I've been questioning every moment of those few days for an hour. You were the one who laid hands on the body, so I thought if anyone would be able to confirm or deny it, it might be you."

"Now you've got me questioning my own memory," Ethan acknowledged. "I can't say definitively. The more I think about how much repair I had to do to get her right, the more I wonder if that's because it wasn't how she looked in the first place." Something stuck in his throat. "If it's her…" Oh damn.

"Yeah." Franz went quiet again for a moment. "Thanks, Ethan. Believe it or not, that helps me make my decision. You may be hearing from me again."

"I'll be up," Ethan promised. Then another thought occurred to him. "Dad and Mom are still out, if this is on the news at 10…"

"Have Edward call me, not like he won't anyway. I've got to go. Thanks, Ethan." Franz hung up without another word.

For several seconds after he had hung up, Ethan just stood there, staring through the wall, trying to absorb what he had just heard.

The phone rang under his hand again. Startled, Ethan picked up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mr. Elric. It's Andrew. Is Ethan there?"

This was probably the call Ethan had been expecting. "Just a second. I'll get him." He turned and looked at his son. "Hey, kid. It's your boyfriend."

Aeddan stared at him, wide-eyed, even as he stood up. "I… how did you know?"

Ethan smiled tiredly. _The better question would be how did I_ not _know you swing both ways?_ "I figured it out. Does Nicole know?" he asked, referring to the girl he also knew his son had been seeing since the start of term.

Aeddan nodded, though he still looked flustered as he reached out to take the phone from his father. "Yeah. We're just casually dating. She's cool with it."

"All I needed to know." Ethan handed over the phone and headed for the downstairs office, where he stuck his head in on Lia, who was working on grading. "Hey, love. I need to run to the clinic really quick to check some records. Do we need anything while I'm out?" No reason to concern her yet.

Lia looked up, and smiled. "Nope, I picked up milk on the way home. When will you be home?"

"In an hour, tops," he replied. "This should only take a couple of minutes." He had the reports on Sara's body, and his own notes. Maybe, just maybe, he could find something he had missed in his grief all those years ago.

* * *

Franz was fairly certain he had never had to make a harder decision. He had spoken to Tore after the meeting. He had spoken with Ethan. He didn't want to mention this to Edward and Winry if they didn't know yet. Not until he had a plan of action, but he still needed one more perspective. Picking up the phone and dialing the number from memory, he called the one other man who knew Sara well enough to give him the kind of perspective he specifically needed. Twenty minutes later he was standing outside the home of Marcus Kane, retired General, and Skyfire Alchemist.

Kane wasn't smiling, but he let Franz in and showed him to the living room. On the table sat two glasses and a bottle.

"First, take this," Kane offered him a glass. "We're going to need it."

Franz sniffed. Scotch. Strong scotch. "I feel like I need a clear head for this."

"If I've ever seen a man who needs a drink, it's you." Kane replied tiredly. "And me. Trust me. You need a clear conscience for this more than your mind."

Maybe he was right. Franz took the glass and upended it in one swallow. It burned all the way down, and he was glad he'd eaten something earlier when it hit his stomach. Then he waited while Kane refilled the glass. "We should sit."

"I do think sitting is going to be necessary." Kane gestured to the chairs in his living room, giving Franz his choice.

He took the nearest one, holding his glass in front of him as he tried to gather his thoughts. "I don't know what to do," he admitted finally.

Marcus sipped his scotch, looking thoughtful. "It's crazy. I'm trying to wrap my mind around it myself. Sara's been buried and dead for years, and suddenly _this._ It's illogical. It's insane… but it's not impossible, is it?" He looked meaningfully at Franz.

Franz nodded. "That's the problem. Even Ethan thinks it's possible the body could have been faked. Hard to do, but not impossible. And that… that woman. Did _you_ see the broadcast?" By the time Franz had managed to get to calling Kane, the entire clip was being repeated and reshown in its entirety across the late-evening news as a special report.

Marcus nodded. "Images were terrible, but it sort of looked like her." Then there was a long pause. "The voice."

Franz sipped. The voice haunted him. "They're threatening to execute some poor woman to stop us, whether she's really Sara or not. It bothers me. It doesn't sit right to let them kill anyone needlessly."

"But they'll keep killing dozens or hundreds more people before the fight is over, even if you don't give in."

"It shouldn't make a difference who it is-" But it did. Franz had always felt guilty about Sara's death. They had known the Syndicate was targeting alchemists. She had insisted on going, that a warehouse inspection was safe, and she had died. Or, possibly worse, she had spent the past several years as a captive, abandoned and forgotten. If that was true, he would be letting his wife die _again._ Franz finished the second glass.

"We can't give in," Marcus spoke into the silence. "This is Amestris, after all. There's no withdrawing now until we've ended the current hostilities in Drachma, and that means helping the government in exile."

They couldn't give in. But he couldn't let that woman die, whoever it was. _Even swearing in Drachman, she sounded like Sara._ "We rescue her." That was all there was too it.

"We have three days to find where they have her locked up, and get there."

"Maybe I gave you too much scotch." Marcus looked skeptical. "Drachma is huge, how are you ever going to locate her, let alone get a rescue team up there in time?"

Franz shook his head. Well, maybe, but it wasn't affecting this. "Our intelligence team was tracking the signal when it came in, the phone call and they did their best to track where the visual broadcast originated from as well. We've narrowed it down, and it's getting closer. We should be able to pinpoint an exact location soon, because we do still have a couple of people in Petrayevka; they work for intelligence." He was grateful their spies had managed to stick it out. No matter what the up-and-up, it helped to have someone in the city. "So we find the building. Then, we send in a rescue team."

"But how will you get them there?"

"That, my old friend, is still classified information."

Marcus scowled at him, but only for a moment. Franz had a feeling Marcus knew what he was referring to. "Then I ask just one favor."

"What's that?"

"If you need someone who's not active duty but packs a punch on this mission, send me."

That was it then. Franz smiled then. He knew who he wanted to send, and this meant he was almost certain the entire team he had in mind would agree. "That is exactly what I was hoping you'd say."


	15. Chapter 15

**January 8** **th** **, 1990**

Edward was still more than a little in shock as he checked the controls of the airplane that was now sitting outside its tiny hanger on a small stretch of straight road outside a military vehicle depot just beyond the city, where vehicles were stored and maintained outside of war time.

Apparently _disassembled_ had been an overstatement, because it had been ready and waiting when he and Ethan arrived, just after midnight.

He had seen the special news report with Winry, Al, Elicia, and Alyse, as they were sitting at Alyse's house over an evening of coffee and puzzles and conversation. It was ludicrous, and ridiculous, and he had immediately called Headquarters only to find out Franz wasn't there. In a rage he couldn't entirely explain, Ed had spent the next hour furious.

Then Franz had called with a plan, and Ed was totally in. For once, Winry was all for him going on a crazy mission. Even if this girl wasn't Sara—and Ed wasn't optimist enough to think there was any real hope it would be—she did not deserve to be a sacrificial animal.

As a team, Ed had to admit he would never have imagined that he would be flying into Drachma at his age, with Marcus Kane, and Ethan. Not a single active member of the military, but all alchemists. Ed knew he was coming because he was the only person asked who knew how to fly the plane. Given the images of the woman in the footage, a medically trained alchemist was going to be a likely necessity. For her, or them if anyone got hurt. Ed was anticipating a fight.

Kane had insisted, and Ed was grateful. If he could trust anyone, even if they hadn't worked together on a mission in decades, it was him.

"This is crazy," Ethan commented as he looked around the plane.

"Of course it is. We're doing it." Ed grinned. "I'm still impressed intelligence managed to identify a specific house where that cell is located."

"In retrospect, it's almost too obvious," Kane commented as he strapped in next to Ed in the co-pilot's chair. "The report says the house is currently occupied by our _buddy_ Valhov. Who keeps prisoners in their basement?"

"Someone devious and insane," Ethan quipped.

Ed glanced over his shoulder to see his son strapping in to one of the smaller wall-seats in the back. He had a full medical kit with him. "Well, we've beaten enough of those in our time. It looks like everything is in order, the fuel tank is full to capacity, and we've got an entire tank's worth of extra in the storage area. We should be able to get all the way to Petrayevka on a tank in this little thing, and out again, though we'll need to touch down somewhere on the way back to refuel."

"Great, then let's get going."

Ed paused, his hand over the starter, and looked around again, surprised. Franz was standing there with a bag of his own. "Just where the hell do you think you're going?"

"If they ask, tell them you accidentally took off with me on board. That's an order."

Not that Ed could blame Franz for wanting to go, no matter who was on the other end, but this was nuts, even for him. "You want me to take the President of the Military into Petrayevka to break into the house of the current want-to-be-dictator when we're trying _not_ to start a war? Did I miss something?"

Franz smiled humorlessly. "If we don't get caught, it won't be a problem, will it, Fullmetal?"

He'd invoked rank and title. Retired or not, Ed knew they did not have time to waste arguing. It would take the better part of a day just to get to Petrayevka, and in good time they would be arriving under the cover of darkness. Thankfully, it was really cloudy out there this winter. "All right, but it's on your head. The Assembly's going to freak out. You might lose your job over this."

"All things I will worry about once we take away Valhov's leverage. Whomever we end up rescuing, Valhov won't be able to use her and he'll have to come up with some other plan or excuse. If nothing else, we can prove he lied."

So Franz didn't really think this was Sara either. There was some reassurance in that. Ed had been concerned. He knew if it had been Winry, he'd be going crazy even if common sense told him it _couldn't_ be her. As it was, he was going a little crazy himself. Rational logic and his heart were at war, and he suspected it was the same for everyone in the plane. "Yes, Sir," he replied, and started her up.

The road made a surprisingly decent runway, and despite the years between flights, Ed got them up into the air smoothly. He kept climbing until they were up in the clouds, and then up through them and just above. With the thick winter clouds, they didn't have to gain nearly as much altitude as he had feared. He also wanted to be as high as possible to avoid folks on the ground hearing their passing. Finally they were on the right heading. "We're up," he announced when he was sure everything was working as it should. "Now, all we have to do is get to Petrayevka, break into a house full of heavily armed guards, rescue a girl, and get out again."

"Sounds like a standard mission for a couple of experienced State Alchemists," Kane snickered.

"And don't you forget it."

* * *

They had been in Karmatsk for a day-and-a-half, and had been given almost nothing to do. Well, nothing as active and intense as sneaking through the countryside, preparing a communications relay and avoiding getting shot at. Mihalov's primary request had been that they get to know the city, particularly the grounds and the walls, and take a good look at the enemy outside, so they could help formulate defensive strategies that incorporated alchemy, just in case it came to fighting.

Which was how Ted found himself standing on a balcony that faced out the side of the Gurina estate, all the way up on the fourth floor, because it gave them a very good view south and south-west, where the road led off towards Petrayevka, and most of the Zinovek forces were still gathered. Most of the city was visible across that expanse as well.

"I see I'm not the only one with this idea."

He turned, and couldn't help smiling as Anika joined him. They had taken to taking turns speaking in one language or the other during conversations. It had greatly improved his Drachman, and her Amestrian, though hers was surprisingly good. She had admitted during their trip that she had been to Amestris once before, when she was in college for zoology. She had attended a Drachman University, but they had traveled to Amestris and spent a couple of weeks at the zoo in Central as a cultural exchange trip within the program. Lately, whoever spoke first got to pick the language. "It's a good view," he replied. "It would be more beautiful if the soldiers would get out of the way though."  
Anika joined him at the railing, her keen eyes looking out into the distance. Even when she wasn't carrying her rifle, she looked like she was very focused on a target. "They do mar the landscape, don't they?"

Ted refrained from commenting that she had improved it. At no point on this trip had Anika demonstrated any particular interest in anyone in their group. Not that he would have expected it. They were all here on a mission, her included. This was hardly the place for romance, and he really didn't feel like being shot down for abysmal timing.  
That did not keep her from being strikingly beautiful or him from noticing. That and she was surprisingly easy to talk to. "We may just have to get rid of them then," he replied.

"From here, if they got into the city, you could take out a lot of them easily."

Okay, so she hadn't been joking. "It's a great position," he agreed. "Though if they get into the city, all of our alchemy will have already failed." If they attacked, than that would mean Amestris had probably already failed. He had seen last night's news report. It was all anyone was talking about in the Amestrian wing. That was part of why he had come up here, to get away from the wild speculation. As much as Ted would love to imagine that his Aunt Sara had somehow, miraculously not died from gunshots and having a flaming building fall in on her, it would only distract him.

Apparently his silence spoke louder than his words. Anika was looking at him. "You seem bothered."

"The news last night," he explained, realizing there was reason she should know his connection. She wasn't Amestrian. "The woman Valhov says he's holding captive… is my dead aunt."

Anika blinked, staring at him very hard. "I do not get it," she admitted after several seconds. "I must be misunderstanding. You just said your aunt who is dead."

Ted nodded. "You understand perfectly. She was killed by the Hashman Syndicate almost eight years ago. A warehouse blew up."

"Then why does Valhov say he has her?"

"That is exactly what I wish I knew."

"I… am sorry." Anika's expression became sympathetic. "It seems that everyone is being personally affected by this mess."

"Thanks, but it's okay." He smiled at her. "You've had a lot on your mind too, and you've been a _huge_ help. I'm not sure we would have made it here without you. Certainly not as fast as we did, or with as little trouble." His hand rested on the railing, just inches from hers. He wished he dared reach out and give it a comforting squeeze. "If there's anything I can do to help you find your father, I'll do it."

"Thank you." She looked surprised by the offer, though she was good at keeping her emotions from being overly obvious. "I'll hold you to that."

"Good. I'd hate to think you didn't think I'd keep my word."

"No. I trust you." Anika pushed a stray wisp of her hair out of her face as the wind toyed with it. "So far you have not given me reason to believe otherwise, and your friends respect you."

That made him chuckle. For all the goofing off, good natured ribbing, and quips traded with the other alchemists, they did respect him, and they followed his orders when it counted. He respected them too. That was part of being a State Alchemist. "We're a good team," Ted nodded. "I would trust any of them with my life… and you," he added cautiously, turning to face her more directly. "I know I haven't known you very long, but I'm glad you're on our side." He smiled a little wider. "I'd hate to get on your bad side." He hoped, really hoped, she could read subtext.

Thankfully, she seemed to understand that he was, not joking exactly but, teasing just a little. "I don't think I want to test my bullets against your alchemy, Ted. It is much better that we are on the same side."

It took him a moment, but he was pretty sure she was teasing him back, even though she clearly meant the words. It was hard, so hard, not to let the half-flirtatious quips that were most of his vocabulary some days out of his mouth. None of them were appropriate in this conversation. So finally, he settled for, "I was going to take a walk around town and get a feel for the place, maybe find out what's actually here. Do you want to come?"

If he caught her off guard, she didn't show it this time. She just smiled. "That sounds like a great idea."

* * *

"Two-and-a-half-days." Cal shook his head and tried to remain calm. If anything, he didn't envy the other Generals at Headquarters right now. He had seen last night's insane broadcast on the world's sketchiest television set with the worst rabbit-ear antennae he'd ever seen. It was sitting here still, in his office. His most recent contact with Amestris had not come from Franz Heimler, however, it had come from Tore. It seemed that after last night's emergency Assembly meeting, the President of the Military—along with Edward Elric, Ethan Elric, and Marcus Kane, and a secret military project no one was supposed to know existed but of course Tore and Cal both knew about it—had gone inexplicably missing. Well, inexplicable if you didn't know better. Tore had gone straight to Winry, and all the Assembly knew was that the President was incommunicado while he worked out a plan and would contact them when he was ready.

Cal looked across the table at Roy, who looked nearly as stunned as they all were. It wasn't possible. It just wasn't. It was like a horrible wish-fulfillment turned nightmare. Sara had been Roy's alchemy teacher, and his mother-in-law. She had been one of Cal's few real friends.

"They're insane," Roy commented without elaborating. He didn't need to. They both knew what must have happened, even though Winry had given Tore only the sketchiest of details. It had to be that way. There was no way Franz could have left a message without incriminating himself. Still, Cal would have given his other foot to be on that plane right now.

Except he couldn't be. He was here, still holding down this slush-hole. They had less than three days until they were either told to pull back, or things got hot and heavy, and not in a good way. "Is your team ready for when things start blowing up?"

Roy nodded. "They're nice and warmed up from making our friends across the ravine as uncomfortable as possible, and they've gotten very comfortable with working with the specific materials around here. Even if they blow that bridge, we can have as many earthen-bridges as you need to move our men and artillery across up in a matter of a couple of minutes. It's not as fast as Fullmetal might have done it," he admitted, chuckling, "But they'll get it done fast enough and sturdy enough. There are metals in these hills. So anything we make will be stronger than it looks."

"Good. Something tells me we're going to need everything we've got, even if we're technically evenly matched. We can't afford to waste time here. We need to punch through and get this mission done before Valhov has more time to consolidate his troops, to bring more against us, and before Amestris has to mobilize a larger force." Cal looked down at the maps in front of him. The local one, and the one that extended all the way to past Karmatsk. "Is there anything out there you can burn?"

Visibly, all that was out there was rocks, dirt, and water. There were next to no trees and any grass was dead and iced over. However, that did not mean there weren't other flammable materials that were easier to light. Cal still remembered the Flame Alchemist's wall of fire that had ended the Drachman War in the first place there, just south of Briggs, on the plain that now held the town that had sprung up since then.

Roy knew what he was asking. "Nothing nearly as big, but I can make use of whatever I need to." Then he grinned. "Besides, they've brought artillery. We've brought artillery. I can make just about anything go explosively if I light it up. Don't worry, we've got this."

Cal nodded, but he wasn't smiling, and after a moment, Roy's slipped. "You blow up whatever you have to. If this goes the way I think it will, we can't afford to dally. Hit them hard, hit them fast, and make a lasting impression." He hated telling anyone to kill, but if it came to that point, they had to make this one skirmish so devastating that Valhov would reconsider starting an open armed conflict with Amestris.

"Yes, Sir. If it comes to that, there won't be anything left but cinders."

* * *

It was the longest flight Ed had ever made, though the one across Xing had been nearly as long. By the time they arrived in the air over Petrayevka, the sun had long gone down, and most families would be home and in bed. Which worked perfectly since it meant there were very few people out and around to hear or notice the tiny plane.  
The flight was long enough that Ed had learned to hate portable bathroom facilities, and had taught Franz, Marcus, and Ethan the basics of how to steer. Enough that any of them could hold the plane level, change elevation up or down slightly, and yaw left or right. There was no real way to teach them take-off and landing right now beyond theory, but it was the best he could do.

They also had enough time to drive themselves crazy trying not to think about who they were saving. Instead, they focused on the mission itself. Making plans, and contingency plans, and contingencies for their contingency plans. The only thing they were able to do, was use the plane's radio to send a coded signal message to Franz' spies, telling them where they planned on landing. It was an obscure code, and one that if someone mistranslated it by using the normal code, it would send them off in entirely the wrong direction. There was no way to know if they would be met, or assistance would be coming, but it was worth a try.

They had to come down through the clouds well enough to see Petrayevka in order to land. As they descended, Ed was taken by the beauty of it all. Flying above a city always seemed more mystical to him, in some ways, than alchemy ever could. He understood the science holding them up, but that did not stop the glittering lights below, hiding the ugliness that was happening in this city, from being breathtakingly beautiful.

The soft gasps from the rest of the plane told him that their first real view of the ground was worth the wait.

Using the map laid out clearly below as a guide, Ed veered around the main part of the city, avoiding flying over anywhere that they would be easily noticed. The neighborhood where Valhov kept his city house—apparently he had estates of his own out to the north-west somewhere—was on the northern side of the city, in what qualified really as a particularly rich suburb. There were fields less than two miles from the house in question, flat ones normally used for farming, and straight roads. In theory, the perfect place to land just outside of sight and earshot, and sneak in.

They hadn't brought disguises. There wasn't time for that, but they had brought thick winter clothing, and that should be enough to obscure them from being recognizable. Not that Ed thought anyone would be even noticed except possibly Franz. No one in Drachma had any reason to have any idea who Ethan or Marcus were. In Ed's case, almost every photo of him in a history book or used as a stock image on the news for any reason was from at least thirty or forty years ago, if it wasn't from his thirties. Occasionally they were from his teen years. Probably half of Amestris would not have recognized him at this point either.

Still, he was grateful for the warmth—and his son's excellent Ed-safe pain mediation—as they disembarked from the plane, after carefully taxiing it to one end of a field—the one nearest the neighborhood, and hiding it in a copse of fir trees. At least it wouldn't be completely obvious from the road. Ethan remained with the plane. If anything happened, he could at least taxi it away.

Then, it was time to walk. Map in hand, they moved down the streets, moving quickly because it was cold, but trying to look casual, like they belonged there and were on their way home from a party late.

Perhaps, Ed thought as he looked at the huge houses surrounded by snow-coated lawns and manicured gardens topped in white, he need not have worried quite so much. It was just after ten, and in most of the houses they passed, almost all the lights were dark. The streetlamps were placed well apart, so there were spaces of darkness where they almost vanished. Enough people had walked on the sidewalks that there were plenty of footprints, now crunchy and solid from the nightly freeze. Their steps would hardly be noticed.

If they hadn't been about to break into a house and rescue an abused captive, it might almost be a beautiful night.

:This is it,: Ed finally whispered—in Drachman, just to be safe—and tucked the map into his pocket. They had stopped in front of one of the largest, oldest houses on the street. It was easily three times the size of Ed's old house in Central. It was even bigger than the Hill House. It was not, however, larger than the Armstrong Estate. The lights were off in nearly every room, except for the subtle glow of one that seemed to be back a ways in an upstairs window. The location hinted that it might be from the back. Like most Drachman houses in the winter, all the thick curtains were drawn tightly, which meant no one was likely to see them.

They approached right up the front walk, which was lined with trees and bushes, and well-trodden. Within a few steps no one from the road would be able to see them, nor would anyone from the windows.

"This place is a safety nightmare," Marcus commented in a soft whisper.

"Lucky for us." Ed paused when they reached the stairs. He had to presume there would be guards inside. Apparently even the Drachman winter was too cold for Drachmans sometimes.

There were also days not needing a transmutation circle were very convenient. Ed clapped his hands together, and then placed them lightly around the door. With particular subtlety, he undid the lock on the door without making a sound. From here, they would have to move quickly, but it was essential not to rush or they might stumble into a trap.

* * *

Franz did not try to quell the fury building inside him. It had started as a flame on the plane, and only grown into a raging fire in his gut as they approached the house. Whether or not Valhov had Sara or some other poor woman he was abusing for his plot, he had invoked Sara's name, possibly in vain, and thus Franz's fury. He would not see his wife, _or_ her name, used for anyone's political machinations. Valhov had unleashed a hell storm, and he was going to regret it.

He supposed that Valhov's security forces were adequate for dealing with regular soldiers, but they hadn't counted on Alchemists. Before he went in the door, Ed had apparently done something else with his transmutation, because when they opened the door, both guards were standing stock-still, their clothing wrapped around them like straight-jackets, including their mouths.

Ed walked right up to the first one, grinned, and knocked him out with a careful blow to the neck. He did the same to the other. Then he undid the transmutation and they slumped to the floor.

Franz shook his head. His father-in-law had always had a soft heart. It would be better to kill them. They had seen them come in. Still, he settled with taking their pistols off their bodies for the moment. Unarmed, they were little threat.

"Which way?" Marcus asked softly.

Franz looked around the large, open entryway with the others. "We need to get to the basement. Intelligence says the door was in the west wing. That's this way." He turned right, down a dark hallway.

Apparently, their entrance had not actually gone unnoticed. Several doors down, near the very end of the hallway, another door opened, spilling golden light across the hardwood floor. Out of the door stepped an older man in slippers and a white pajama set that strained over his belly. He turned, squinting at them in the darkness, and Franz recognized the face of Gerase Valhov.

He stared back at them, apparently not recognizing them, but knowing danger when he saw it. In seconds he was shouting :What are you doing in my house? Guards, intruders!:

In a flash, Marcus Kane bolted forward, and despite throwing up his arms for a punch, Valhov had no chance. Kane grabbed, twisted, and pinned Valhov with one smooth move.

Edward grinned. "Well now, that wasn't so hard. Nice work."

The Skyfire Alchemist snickered. "I've still got it."

Franz raised one of the pistols, and aimed it right at the man's head. :We're here for the hostage, Gerase _._ Now you're going to tell me where to find her.:

The man winced, still squinting in the darkness, and his eyes widened as he finally recognized his assailants. Or at the very least, he recognized Franz. : _You_? How the hell did you get to Petrayevka?:

:Military secrets,: he replied shortly, and cocked the trigger. :Ten seconds, Gerase. Now where is she?: Even in the dark, with his glasses cock-eyed, thick winter gloves on his hands, Franz could make _this_ shot. The man's head was a pasty white blob, his body clearly silhouetted in the light still spilling out the door into what appeared to be a sitting room, with a fireplace.

Valhov still seemed to think he could talk his way out. :You really are predictable. I—:

:Three.:

:-can't believe you'd come here yourself. Just for a threat—:

:Two.:

:-of something as ludicrous as—:

:One.:

:Wait!: He broke down sobbing and stopped struggling against Marcus's hold.. :Please! She's in the basement.: He nodded to his right and behind him the last few yards to where the hall ended. :At the end of the hall, there's a door. It's locked.:

:Is there a key?:

He hadn't put down the gun, and Valhov was finally starting to look like he understood the situation. :Aaa-around my neck.:  
Fullmetal came forward, reaching in with a distasteful expression. He fished around and yanked. Franz heard the sound of a chain snapping. "Got it. Let's go."

"What do you want done with him, Chief?" Skyfire asked Franz from his position behind Valhov.

Franz took a long, steadying breath. This was almost over. "Let him go."

Marcus looked surprised, but he shrugged. "All right then." He shoved Valhov into the ground, and released him, stepping back.

As soon as he was out of range, a shot rang out through the house, and Valhov dropped the rest of the way to the floor, collapsing with a smoking hole in his head.

Franz lowered the gun, the fury inside still writhing like a living thing, but appeased, if only a little. "That takes care of that problem."

"What the hell!"

He looked up, and Fullmetal and Skyfire were both staring at him, wide-eyed. It was Edward who had spoken, his hand still frozen on the key which was already in the door.  
"He was a threat to international peace. He's not now." Franz' voice was far too calm, even to his own ears.

"Don't you think they're going to notice their leader's been _murdered_?"

Franz dropped the now empty pistol, and kicked it across the floor, back towards the unconscious man who had worn it. He picked up the other, aimed, and shot both of the unconscious guards on the floor, one in the neck, the other in the head. He kicked that weapon back to the other corpse. "By a Drachman bullet, fired from a Drachman weapon. Clearly he should have chosen his guards more carefully."

More stares. Franz understood why. He just couldn't explain it in words. Part of him felt distanced from the rest of his mind. All that mattered now was completing the mission. If Valhov was dead, the Drachman coup was doomed to fail. "We need to hurry." He pushed past both of the other men, practically running down the narrow wooden stairs that led to the basement. Sara or not, his heart pounded. Heartbreak or revelation. Truth or lies. He had to know. He could not go on another minute without knowing. The agony needed to end, no matter how.

The floor, and a door with a single slot in it a concrete wall. The lock. "The key."

Fullmetal came forward from right behind him, and jammed the second key on the ring into the lock. The door came open with well-oiled smoothness.

For a second, Franz couldn't breathe. This was it, the moment of truth. He braced himself for disappointment. The dim light of the bulb above them lit the darkness. A woman- bedraggled, tattered, and a mess of bruises with a mangled leg that made Franz wince-lay on the concrete shelf, her hands bound behind her, and Franz' heart broke. He had seen better looking corpses. He knelt beside the form that had barely stirred at their sudden and dramatic arrival, and the world went still; dust motes in a windless room.

"Sara?" Her name fell from his lips, a drop on a still pond. His gloved hand touched her swollen face, but even then, it was like an electric jolt had gone through him. The curve of her jaw, the angle of the chin. He pushed the short shorn hair from her face, and his throat closed with a choking sob.

Eyes, two bright blue eyes, blinked open and stared at him, at first in fear, then confusion. " _Doshke?_ " She squinted in even the dim light and dry, bloodstained lips moved, emitting a cracked whisper. "Franz?"

That single word ripped through his heart. She knew him. "Oh, gods… _Sara_." His vision blurred with unshed tears as he ever so gingerly gathered her frail frame into his arms, and pulled her into an embrace. She did not fight him, but he couldn't tell if she even really understood what was happening. Her heart beat assured him that she was more alive than she looked. The distance evaporated and all he could feel was overwhelming raw emotion crashing against him. His eyes stung and blurred as his heart ripped open. It wasn't possible and yet here she was, in his arms, alive… his beautiful Belle.

A hand on his shoulder steadied the maelstrom. "Franz!" As if down a well, he heard Fullmetal's voice, thick with emotion. "We have to get her out of here! We don't know if anyone else is here, or coming."

He was right. They had to get out of here. Now. Getting his right arm under her legs-trying not to look too closely at the mess that was her left leg—he slid his left under her back and neck and gathered her into his arms far too easily. She was barely a feather. Sara's eyes closed, and she snuggled instinctively against him. Franz turned to Skyfire and Fullmetal. He didn't even have to make a command; they led the way back up the stairs.

They didn't have much time. Someone in any of the houses nearby might have heard the shot that killed Valhov. They couldn't assume that the plane hadn't been noticed coming in, however low and in the country outside of town. "We'll take a car," he announced as they emerged through Valhov's garage. Speed over stealth at this point. If they all died up here, then this whole mission would not only be a waste, but an international disaster. His arms clutched the woman he held as his mind still struggled between disbelief, horror, and a profound joy. _Rescue first. Breakdown second._

They took the least noticeable of the cars in the garage. Plain black. The least expensive and most utilitarian. Skyfire drove, with Fullmetal riding shotgun. Franz crawled into the back with Sara laid gently on the seat next to him, belted in as best he could manage, his arms around her for additional stability. She grunted a couple of times as they settled, and moaned softly, but her eyes looked blurry and slightly dilated, as if Valhov had been keeping her drugged. "It'll be all right, Belle," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. "I promise."

Two blocks away, a Drachman police car sped past them going the other way, sirens blaring. Franz cringed. "I think we've outstayed our welcome."

Skyfire stepped on the gas. What had taken almost half an hour to walk on foot, it only took a few minutes to get out of the neighborhood by car, even in the snow. Soon the copse of trees appeared. As they pulled up, Fullmetal leaned out the window and shouted "Don't shoot, it's us!"

Franz had no idea if Ethan had been aiming a gun out the window, or alchemy. He only had one focus, one purpose. Carefully and quickly, he pulled Sara back out of the vehicle and, once again cradling her against him, ran for the plane, which was lined up along the road, waiting for them, ramp down. His legs and chest burned from exertion as he sprinted the last few steps, his sides were agony, and he heard more than felt his feet pounding up the ramp, and came to a screeching halt to avoid slamming into a bulkhead.

He turned, ever so delicately placing Sara as upright as he could make her to get her strapped in to a restraint as everyone scrambled for seats. She cried out, but remained mostly unconscious.

The engine was already running, and as soon as the ramp closed, Franz could feel the vibrations of the plane beneath them as they started to taxi quickly up the slippery, snow-packed street. The plane slid more than once, and Franz gritted his teeth, fearing that they were all going to die without getting off the ground. Then the sloughing stopped, and the pitch changed, and he felt them climbing swiftly into the night. Not at all silently, but he supposed that didn't matter. The Drachmans didn't have anything that could shoot them out of the sky. At least, he hoped not.

Ever so slowly the tightness of his muscles eased, and his jaw unclenched. Strapped in beside her, he had his arms out, doing his best to hold Sara still, to ease her pain. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, even though what he saw cut deeply into his soul so hard it was like physical pain ripping through him.

Then the plane shuddered, and he gripped Sara's inert body close as it bucked, and slid sideways, and turned sharply, his stomach lurching with it almost a second behind. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard to keep from vomiting. "What the hell is going on up there?" he bellowed, his heart pounding faster as he tried not to panic. Flying… if he never got off the ground again, he'd be a very happy man. He closed his eyes, grateful he couldn't see out from the back of the plane.

"Just a little company!" Edward bellowed back.

Company, in the air. Franz didn't like the sound of that. Especially since the plane no longer had its original guns. What other secrets had the Hashman Syndicate shared with Valhov's Zinoveks before their demise? Apparently he hadn't taken them out thoroughly enough.

Then came the explosions, and even without looking out the open hatch to the cockpit, Franz caught glimpses of bright flashes in the night. His palms felt clammy as he held on to Sara's inert form. _We are not going to die. We are not going to die.  
_

At least if they went down now, they would go together. _  
_


	16. Chapter 16

**Still January 8** **th** **, 1990**

Edward juked the plane up, then turned sharply again, trying to lose the newer, more robust machine flying on their tale, shooting at them. "Just what we needed!"  
"You think it's the only one?" Marcus asked as he frantically dragged on a pair of transmutation gloves.

"If it's not, we have other problems." Ed made the plane dodge one way, then another, avoiding another string of bullets that riddled the air . They had just effectively brought Sara back from the dead. He wasn't letting his daughter die again! "Light 'em up, Skyfire!"

"With pleasure." Marcus slammed his hands together, and outside, behind them and to the sides, a series of brightly colored explosions filled the night sky. "Petrayevka is getting one hell of a show."

"Great! As long as we're not one of the things blowing up!" Ed focused on flying, which was much harder in the dark, with things exploding everywhere. Winry had been right to be concerned, he supposed. Not that he would ever tell her. Left. Right. Up. Left. Down. A sharp turn. He kept flying and Skyfire kept trying to blow up the guy behind him.  
Sometimes he caught a glimpse of Marcus out of the corner of his eye. Kane had his eyes closed tight, as he focused on using alchemy to blow things up _outside_ the plane, and not inside it too. His hands, pressed tightly to the seat he was in, told Ed he was sensing the composition of the plane as well as what was outside, to reach beyond it. It was impressive work. Not that he would have expected less from one of his best students.

"We've got to get him in front of us," Marcus grunted after another two minutes of dodging. "Can you get lower?"

"In these mountains?" Ed cringed, but he knew what Marcus was going for. They probably weren't going to lose the other pilot, not unless they outsmarted him. Clearly, he had practice. Still, to go lower, in the dark. His eyesight was not at its best at night anymore… "Do we have a choice?"

"Not really. If we get low and can come around fast enough, I just need one clear visual unless he does something supremely stupid."

"Crashing him into a mountain would work too." Ed swallowed, and dove, carrying them further away from the city, heading generally west, because that was was clear. He didn't want to lead the enemy plane over Amestrian soldiers, so going straight south was not an option.

He shot down into the mountains, and hoped for the best. Thankfully, snow wasn't falling and the sky was clearing in that direction, so while everything was black above, and white below, at least he had some visibility. Now, if they could just find a way to make Marcus' plan work.

* * *

It was all Franz could do not to vomit on the floor beneath his feet. Teeth clenched, he focused on keeping his arms around his wife, and his eyes closed. Not that it helped much.

"You're turning green," Ethan commented from his position, strapped in across from them.

Franz just nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth.

Wisely, Ethan said nothing else, though he sounded uneasy himself. Franz suspected that had more to do with the wreck of Sara's body; not Franz' queasy stomach. He was sure now that Valhov had been drugging her into submission, because she still seemed stunned and slipped in and out of the barest consciousness. _Death was too good for him._ He wanted to get away from here, where they could level out, and he could get his stomach under control, pretend he wasn't hundreds or thousands of feet in the air, and they could tend to Sara properly.

* * *

It was killing Ethan, sitting there, strapped in across from Franz and the mangled, breathing near-corpse that was living evidence that they had, in fact, been somehow tricked into believing she was dead for not quite a decade. He sat, unable to tend to his sister thanks to the bastard trying to shoot them down. He winced with every sudden move, more for how it jostled Sara than for his own discomfort.

Sara. The sister he had helped prepare for burial. Or thought he had. The idea that he had been tricked, that he hadn't recognized that the corpse wasn't even his sister… he hadn't quite believed it until Franz rushed on board with a woman in his arms; a woman that had to be Sara Elric Heimler. The way Franz held her made that clear, even if Ethan hadn't been able to recognize her, even in her dramatically altered state. He desperately wanted to get his hands on her, to heal her… but that wasn't going to happen until his father managed to shake or kill the Drachman pilot behind them.

 _Hang on, Sis. You have this long, and that's a miracle in itself._

* * *

"They're good," Edward grumbled, more displeased than impressed, as they continued to weave and dodge as close to the ground-and the cliffs that rose around them- as he dared to get.

"Unfortunately." That was all Marcus said, and even that came out sounding tense. Ed could imagine the strain. It had been a while since either of them had been in heated combat, and Marcus was still pumping out explosive air transmutations like a new year's fireworks display in the hope of getting their pursuer.

Ed ducked down a long trench, one wide, but topped with thick trees, praying it stayed as long and straight as it looked. The other plane went high, and Ed expected he would be waiting when they came out the other end. That gave him an idea. "Can you make those explosions brighter?" he asked suddenly.

Only a moment's hesitation. "I can. Tell me what you need."

No question. No doubt. Just running with another crazy Fullmetal plan. _I trained him well._ "On my mark, blow the biggest, brightest explosion you can at the end of this canyon."

"I'm on it."

Ed counted down the seconds. He had to time this just right, or they were all going to go splat against the front of a mountain in less than a minute. He waited as long as he possibly could, then, "Mark!"

A moment later he was completely blinded by the nova-like explosion in front of them. The plane was buffeted, but he held her steady, hit the end of the trees right in the middle of that ball of light, and-trusting to the altimeter and other instruments on the panel, and good old fashioned instinct-Ed yanked up hard, and then dodged right as the other plane's bullets shot right below them, followed almost immediately by the plane as it flew headlong into the rock face and exploded.

Ed kept climbing hard for several seconds, blinking rapidly as his eyesight slowly returned and he began to see the actual stars. As soon as he cleared the lowest mountains, he leveled off and banked slowly around, heading South.

Beside him, Marcus was shaking. Quivering really.

Ed looked at him curiously. "Some explosion, huh?" He refused to admit his own heart was going like a hamster on caffeine.

"Some— that's all you can—" Marcus stared at him for a hard moment, then burst out laughing. "That was _insane!_ Pure, crazy, genius."

Ed put on his cockiest grin. "Yeah, well, that's pretty much how I got this far." His own hands were quivering too, as the rush of adrenaline started to wear off. "Nice explosion. Glad to see we named you right."

Marcus snorted. "You owe me a drink. Maybe three."

"You just helped save my daughter. I'll buy you drinks till you can't walk straight if you want." Edward unbuckled. "But for now, take the controls. Just keep flying straight on this heading. I want to check on our passengers." He wanted to see _Sara._

"Sure thing, Ed." Marcus traded places with him, and Ed hurried into the back.

* * *

At least he'd lost his stomach into a bag, and not all over himself, Sara, or the plane, Franz thought as he used a disposable towel Ethan offered him to wipe his mouth.

"Remind me never to get in a plane again."

"Or at least not one Dad's flying," Ethan chuckled as he helped Franz settle Sara down in a laying position across the only two seats that were directly side-by-side. "Thank goodness that's over. Easy there, Sis." His voice softened as he bent down over Sara, and laid a cloth with a transmutation circle already drawn on it across her body. His expression sobered. Franz knew he had seen a lot of injured and damaged bodies over the years, but it was entirely different when it was his own kin. "Let's see what I can do to make you feel better."

Franz leaned over the back of the seats, clasping one of his wife's pale hands. Her skin was cold compared to his, even though he could feel her pulse in her wrist. Her hair was short and ragged, and while he knew in his head it was just hair, it made his heart break a little more. Sara had always loved her long, rich, dark golden hair. Now, tattered, and dirty, it was also streaked with hairs that were so pale there were a shade lighter gold than white, not unlike the way her mother's hair had gone.

Ethan's eyes were closed for several seconds, then he opened them again, frowning. "There's no flow."

"What do you mean?" For a moment, panic seized him, and Franz had to forcibly stuff it down.

"Something is stopping any transmutation I attempt on her body. The energy just vanished."

Franz's throat closed in fear. "Can you fix it?"

"Look for a mark." Ethan immediately pulled back the sleeves of Sara's tattered gray clothes, then the neckline. "I bet we're looking for a transmutation circle like the ones they used after the war on the Drachman alchemists."

Franz hadn't seen those, but he had heard of them. In any case, a transmutation circle would be obvious, and it only took a minute to find it, literally branded into the skin on the back of her neck, and long healed, but the lines were quite clear. "Now what?"

"Now I have to figure out how to get rid of it." Ethan scowled hard at the mark. "A healing transmutation would remove it completely if it were just regular scar tissue."  
Which it clearly wasn't. Franz frowned. "So you can't transmute it off."

Ethan shook his head. "If I try, it will just dissipate any transmutation I attempt. That's exactly what it's for."

"If you drew over it, or broke the line somehow, would that stop it from blocking you?"

"I'm open to ideas," Ethan admitted. "I'd rather not cut her."

"What about ink?" Franz wondered if anyone had thought to bring a pen on board. "Change the lines."

"That _should_ render it useless until I can transmute it off." Ethan nodded, looking a little more hopefully as he reached into his medical bag. "I've always got one in here for labelling." He pulled out a thick permanent marker and considered the mark carefully. "I hope this works. I've never tried a circle made out of two different materials."

Franz desperately hoped it wouldn't make a difference. He watched, a little fascinated as Ethan carefully chose where to mark through the circle, and completely redraw it in a couple of places. Franz would have just scribbled it out. Clearly that would not have been the right answer. Finally, Ethan put down the pen. "Let's try this again."

Franz couldn't see the flow of alchemy as his brother-in-law laid his hands on the transmutation circle sitting on Sara's chest, but he heard Ethan muttering to himself. "Let's get that crap out your system…. Oh Sis…they really did a number on your legs didn't they?"

Finally, he couldn't take it. "Would you mind telling me what you're seeing?" He looked at Ethan long enough to see him look apologetic.

"Sorry." Ethan paused. "I'll start with the good news. Inside, other than some nasty stuff they were using to keep her drugged, there's no real damage to organs or anything critical besides neglect. It's all surface bruising, and a few cracked ribs. It looks like those have been broken and healed repeatedly. Her breathing is fine, and so is her heart. There are signs of a lot of older injuries of the same types, but from the waist up, she's in surprisingly good shape despite being severely undernourished."

Franz nodded, and swallowed. He had some suspicions about why Ethan wasn't smiling. "And down?"

Ethan's expression darkened, and in it, Franz saw a little of his own smoldering hatred. "Her back is strained, but intact, barely. Her right leg is functional, though there are signs of an old bullet wound in her thigh. Her left leg looks like someone purposefully took a bat to it, repeatedly, for long periods of time; especially at the knee. It's—I can barely _call_ it a knee. The whole leg is just a mess of mangled tissue and cracked bones. There are several badly healed breaks and fractures, and bone splinters. A lot of it is long healed, but not well." Determination crossed his features. "Well, let's see what I can do about it."

It was a lot to deal with, all things considered. Franz nodded, his stomach twisting just from the description, and he focused back on Sara's face as Ethan started to work in earnest. He didn't think he could look at her leg for long in his current state. So he focused on her face, hoping for some sign of awareness. One minute stretched into two, then three. He lost track as sweat beaded on Ethan's brow, but he kept going. Franz had no idea if that meant things were going well or badly, even after all his years of watching alchemists at work. His only reassurance was the fact that Ethan would have told Franz if Sara was near death.

Slowly, the bruises he could see turned yellow and vanished, almost as if they had healed in fast-forward. Sara grunted several times, and whimpered at others, but her eyes remained closed.

Finally, Ethan stopped, and sat back, looking drained and sweaty. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face. "That's all I can do for now."

"Well, it's something." Franz looked at her. "She seems more comfortable if nothing else." If possible, she looked like she had slipped into a deep sleep instead of a drug induced stupor. "What did you do?"

Ethan nodded, then pulled a bottle of water out of his bag, opened it, and down half in one long series of swallows. "She should be. The ribs weren't hard to heal, though that was a lot of multi-layered bruising and… smoothing, for lack of a better term, of old injuries that healed imperfectly."

"You got the drugs out of her system?"

Franz almost jumped backwards at the unexpected voice, before looking up to see Edward standing there. He had no idea how long his father-in-law had been watching instead of flying the plane.

Ethan nodded, turning to look up at Edward from his position where he remained on his knees. "Yeah. It wasn't like the hallucinogens they gave you, but it wasn't a pretty cocktail either. I used as much of my energy as I could to spare her. She's got no reserves left, so she should sleep for quite a while before she wakes up. Maybe a few hours if we're fortunate."

Franz was dying for her to wake up, but he schooled himself to patience. Beyond all reason, Sara had been returned to him. He could be patient if she needed real, uninterrupted sleep. Assuaging his anxiety was not the priority. Not that the logic made it any easier. "Is there _anything_ I can do?"

"Hold her close, and keep her warm," Ethan replied without hesitating. "When she wakes up, she's going to be in a completely unfamiliar place, with a clear head for the first time in who knows how long, and we have no idea what her mental state will be like. Clearly, she's been beaten and tortured repeatedly, both in the past, and now." His tone grew increasingly angrier. "I can't know how much they've messed with her head until she wakes up."

Ed placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder. He also looked angry, but more controlled. "We'll get her through it, no matter how bad it is," he replied with firm conviction. "What matters is that we have her."

Franz nodded, though he had to fight not to contradict him. _Of course_ that was what mattered, but part of him screamed that if her mind was gone, or too traumatized to fully recover, that it would have been kinder if she had been dead. Surely, it would have been better for her to have been at peace than spending all this time, captured, and tormented, and abandoned. Once more he felt a twist in his gut that had nothing to do with nausea. "She'll be all right," he said, as much to convince himself. "She's always been the tough one."

Ed's expression wasn't quite pity, but it was full of understanding as he nodded. "She has." Then, after a moment, "There's a blanket in storage, I thought we might need it." He moved around them all, and opened a compartment, pulling out a thick, fluffy blanket. Franz had no idea when Ed might have packed it. "Wrap both of you up in that, and it'll keep her warm," he said as he held it out to Franz.

Franz nodded, only letting go of Sara's hand long enough to take the blanket, and readjust her position, and his, so that he was once more seated, and she—laying on her back—had her head resting in his lap. Most of the blanket was over her. Sara barely stirred, but he could feel her breathing. "How did we let this happen?"  
A long silence followed his statement. "We were outsmarted," Ed finally spoke into the empty air that hung between them. "They laid an elaborate trap, and left us no reason to question events. Whoever they got to transmute the fake was good enough to fool anyone who saw the body, even people who knew her. I just hope whoever it was we killed them when we bombed the heck out of the Syndicate."

"I don't usually work on cadavers," Ethan commented quietly. "When I restored her before the funeral… I transmuted her to look that way she was supposed to because I knew what _my sister_ looked like. All I did was make their fake look even more convincing." He shook his head, the guilt evident in his tone. "At that point, no one would have questioned it. I wish I knew who that poor woman was."

"Another victim." Franz gently stroked Sara's hair, the short hacked bit of it that remained, wishing he had something to comb it with. Her only real vanity had been that hair. "Another woman who didn't deserve what she got at the hands of those bastards." He sighed, biting back the recriminating statements still swirling in his mind. Soon, Sara would wake. When they landed, he was going to have other problems. He looked up at Edward. "Is there any way we can find out what they're saying on the ground? Do they know Valhov is dead? Can we get word back to Amestris we're coming?" He knew they had enough fuel to make it back behind the Amestrian line before they had to refuel.

"We can message ahead," Ed nodded. "At least, we can try. If I can reach the Amestrian lines, we can tell them we're coming, or at least passing over. How much do you want me to tell them of what happened?"

A sensitive matter. "Tell them the objective has been reached, and that we cut the head off the bear. They'll know to keep tabs on official channels for anything the Drachman people are being told." He had little hope that they would be able to successfully tap phone lines. "Also, tell them to prepare to push harder." They had nothing to hold over the Amestrians now, or Franz. He knew they had been counting on him to cave, to be the romantic. Well, he'd shown them what happened when you messed with the hearts of Amestrians. "We're going to rescue our Embassy, and the Cretan Embassy, and we're going to make damned sure that Valhov's government doesn't last, and I won't take failure as a result." He wasn't sure they could retake the country. The Drachman army was still huge, and eventually they would unite against someone. They should be able to at least rescue the people who _would_ be killed or locked up in the horrible Drachman prison system. "Tell Whitewater we don't leave any Amestrian behind." Not any, but he knew Cal would understand the statement was meant to include his daughter and her fiancé.

Ed clearly wanted to stay with him and Sara, but he nodded. "I'm on it." Then he returned to the cockpit.

Ethan had managed to wobble to his feet, draining the rest of his water bottle. "I'm going to dig out some food. You want anything? We'll be in the air for at least another three hours."

Franz shook his head. Aside from the riot going on in his insides, he was too anxious. "Later."

Ethan didn't argue, he just nodded as he pulled out a couple of apples and a summer sausage, sat down across from them again, and started devouring them like a starving animal. "I'll give her a boost later," he promised between bites. "As soon as she's awake, assuming she's in a stable mental state, we need to get food and water in her as soon as possible."

Franz looked back down at his wife, and had a sudden, paralyzing fear. "Ethan… please, tell me how we know for sure this is my Sara."

To his relief, Ethan smiled. "Oh no. No one's fooling me twice. That was a very thorough inspection I assure you. If you're _looking_ , it's possible to tell when someone's been healed with alchemy. Just like you can find hints if something has been transmuted. Dead bodies I'm not good with. Live is much easier. This is definitely the sister whose oldest baby I helped deliver, and whose concussion I fixed. All the old scars are right where they should be. _This_ is our Sara." His voice broke slightly, and Franz realized that he wasn't the only one choked up and having a lot of trouble dealing with what was going on.

"She also called me by name." He remembered it now, almost as if it were in a dream haze."When we pulled her out of the cell. It was the only word she said."

"That wasn't enough of a clue for you?"

"He could have trained or brainwashed a prisoner." Franz sighed. "I wouldn't have put anything past that man at this point."

"What did you do with him?"

That was when Franz realized no one had told Ethan the details of what transpired in the house. There hadn't been time. There was no reason to belabor it. "I shot him with his own bodyguard's gun," he replied softly. It had seemed so easy at the time, but it had been decades since Franz had been required to shoot anyone in the name of duty.

Ethan paused, and for a moment they just looked at each other. "Good," he replied simply, and went back to eating.

* * *

Edward let Marcus keep control of the plane. Instead, he sat for a long while in silence in the navigator's seat, staring out into the darkness beyond, his mind mulling over the things Franz had said, and what Edward himself had been thinking, including the conversation he suspected neither Franz nor Ethan realized he had overheard. Old as he was, his hearing was still sharp.

He had been momentarily stunned by the apparent ease with which Franz had killed Valhov, and both of his bodyguards, in his own home. Not because he had forgotten than Franz had been, first and foremost, a soldier and trained to do what was necessary, but because it had been an incredibly calculated move, not self-defense in any way. They _could_ have taken the man as a prisoner and hostage in his own right, and used him to end this. Franz had simply chosen to remove him, summarily executed for his crimes. No jury. No trial. While Ed had known that Franz had never emotionally moved on after Sara's death, not romantically certainly, he had always expected the mild-mannered son-in-law to have been more at peace after eight years. Mourning periods ended, even if you never stopped loving someone.

From the moment the crazy news had been dropped, Franz had been like a fiend possessed, determined to find out if it was true or not, and rescue whoever it was, even if there was next to no chance it was _really_ Sara. That, Ed understood. Hell, he had insisted on coming along for the same reasons. If his daughter hadn't really died in that explosion, shot through the head, then he wasn't going to leave her in enemy hands. Still, it had lit a fire in Franz, something furious and unrelenting.

Now Ed understood it as well as he understood his own feelings of fury and of guilt; Ethan's too. They had all been duped, and in doing so they had allowed Sara to spend years as a prisoner, of a war they hadn't realized they were still fighting. Forgotten, alone; would she hate them? How much of _their_ Sara remained? Edward of the three of them knew what being captured and tortured could do to you, and his time had been so much shorter. It did not matter that Sara was in her sixties. In Ed's heart, she was still his baby girl; the one he had saved from drowning, and taught alchemy on the weekends, and been so proud to call her the Twilight Alchemist, to see her rise as an officer, fall in love, get married, have children, and be successful in all areas of her life without giving up any of them.

Except she had, when she had lost a single, unfair fight. Ed was aching to hear the story of the past several years, aware he might never get most of it. Painful memories were often buried, or talked about only with counselors. Saving a body did not mean they would have their Sara back. Yet somehow, despite adversity and suffering Sara was still alive, and now she was going home, and they would get through the healing process together.

"You're awfully quiet," Marcus commented after nearly an hour.

"Just wondering how much alchemy it would take to blow up every remaining member of this of the leadership of this little coup, and all their supporters," Ed spoke calmly. "It's too bad we took all the explosive capabilities out of this plane."

"Lucky for the Drachmans," Marcus replied. "Or maybe not. Now they're going to have to deal with a line filled with pissed-off Amestrians who know that they kept one of their own hostage, and a very beloved one at that; especially for the alchemists."

"Then I feel a little better about not taking them all out on the way home. We'll let the rest of the team have their shot at them." Ed didn't want innocents caught in the crossfire, but as far as he was concerned, anyone fighting for this particular coup deserved what they got for supporting madmen and monsters. Killing and hurting their own civilians, they couldn't even pretend that what they were doing was actually better for the Drachman people. For a minute, he wished he was down on the lines, but it passed quickly. He was, truthfully, too old. This kind of mission was much more to his tastes anyway. Fly in, rescue the girl, outwit an enemy, and fly home to his beautiful wife.

Marcus grinned. "We trained them well. They'll handle it."


	17. Chapter 17

**January 9** **th** **, 1990  
**  
Warmth, and an odd peace were interrupted by a short struggle and a sharp agonizing smack to the face. Startled, Franz's eyes blinked abruptly open. Startled, it took him a second to realize that Sara had nearly smacked him with her arm. She stirred again, still struggling. But the less controlled movements of a woman asleep. Her eyes came slowly open, blinked twice, and then all at once went violently wide, and she screamed.

Oh shit! "Sara!" Franz called her out name, trying not to panic as he tried to keep her from falling off his lap. "It's me! Franz. Please… you'll hurt yourself."

He was sure she was going to slip out of his arms and fall when she stopped moving almost as suddenly as she had begun, and stared up at him, squinting in the light. Her eyes grew wider than he had ever seen them. At least she wasn't shouting now. "I'm not... hallucinating." The words were halting, thick, and with a subtle hint of Drachman in them, but they were clear. Her voice sounded like someone had dragged her throat across a log.

"No, no my love, you're not." He loosened his grip just a little. Her blue eyes, still deep and mesmerizing, looked into his. "We rescued you."

"We?" she frowned, confused, and looked around as much as she could lying almost flat on her back.

Ethan, sitting across the way, grinned almost too casually and waved. "Hi, Sis. Long time no see."

A tiny squeak escaped Sara's lips. For several seconds, her body trembled. Then the tears came, in a soft, steady stream. "Ethan? Where… where are we?"

"In a plane," Ethan explained as if it happened every day. "You know, one of those flying machines Mom and Dad told us about from the other side of the gate? Only we've got one."

Sara took a long pause, then shook her head slightly. "You're sure… I'm not dead?" She looked at Franz. "I… I don't hurt… much."

"Positive," he promised. "A lot's happened while you were—"

"Dead?" she said it for him. "I guess so. I… sorry, if my words… are slow," she apologized. "It's weird… speaking Amestrian again. I did...to myself, but they never did after the first year." She stopped, licking her lips with a tongue as dry as they were.

She didn't have to say who _they_ were. Though Franz wanted to kill them too. "It's fine, Belle." She was alive; anything she did was okay with him. "I'm just—it's incredible. I thought—you were lost to me forever." Then his voice broke, and his own tears came flooding out in a torrent as the years of loss and grief, and now guilt, overwhelmed him.

"Oh god… Sara, I'm so sorry!" He held her close as he began to cry as he hadn't in a very, very long time. He kissed her cheeks, and cradled her like the delicate treasure she was.

Sara looked puzzled, and concerned. "What for?"

Through the salty wet, Franz tried to find the words. "I let you die once. I couldn't do it twice. I never meant to abandon you to them…"

Sara kept shaking her head ever so slightly, and Franz realized he was overwhelming her. "Abandon? You thought I was dead, right?"

"Well, yes."

"Then… don't apologize," she replied with surprising firmness for someone in her position, still crying herself. "I never escaped. I tried… so many times to get… to you…or to get word…. And they just kept _breaking_ me. And then they… took my alchemy-" her voice broke hard then. "I can't…"

"Actually," Ethan startled both of them by cutting in. "That's not true anymore."

"It's not?" Sara stared at her brother, _hard_.

"I had to break their transmutation circle before I could do anything to heal your injuries," Ethan explained. "It's not gone yet, but it can't stop you. Though if you try before I say you're healed enough I will personally _never_ forgive you."

Sara's startled expression softened into one of sisterly affection. "An idle threat. You _flew_ into Drachma… to save me. What I don't understand… is how you… found me."

"We traced Valhov's calls and live television feed," Franz informed her, deciding the short version would do. "You have no idea how surprised we were to find him in Petrayevka."

"That's where we were?" Sara stared at him, wide-eyed. "I was… the last place was out in the middle… of nowhere." She paused then for several seconds, breathing, just breathing, and trying to wet her lips. Franz held her up enough to hold a bottle of water to her lips, and let her take slow sips. Finally, she insisted on continuing. "Actually, most of the places I was were. They moved me… several times." She looked briefly disoriented. "We're really flying in the air?"

Ethan nodded. "Yes. That thrum you hear is the engines."

Franz decided to continue with the story. If Ethan wasn't concerned, than he would just continue acting as if they hadn't seen each other in months maybe, rather than years.

"We tracked it, and put together this rescue team."

Ethan gave him an approving smile, even as he watched Sara keenly, more a physician's eye than a sibling. Franz realized he was watching her reactions, assessing her for mental or emotional damage. Keeping her listening and reacting was the best way to do that.

"Team? Who else is here?" Suddenly, Sara looked tense.

"It's okay, Belle," Franz hoped he sounded reassuring. Her fear worried him. "It's your father, and Marcus Kane."

"Dad?" Sara struggled, trying for a moment to sit up with strength she did not possess. Finally, she stopped, frustration clear in her eyes.

"I'll get him." Ethan was on his feet and out the door before Franz could do much of anything.

Sara watched him vanish through the cockpit door, and only seconds later Edward shot through the opening at as much of a run as the plane's small space would allow.

"Sara!" He dropped to his knees next to her, giving her hand a squeeze though he clearly would have liked to have pulled her into a crunching bear hug, but knew better. Besides, Franz wasn't letting go. "Thank goodness you're alive."

Sara erupted in tears, and Franz had to loosen his hold as she reached out, and Ed complied as they embraced in a fiercely emotional hug. "Daddy! I can hardly believe… you're still alive."

"Me?" Ed snorted, though his eyes were wet too. "Your mother and I are both in great health. Did you think we'd died already?"

"He… my captor… Yegor… said everyone was alive," Sara sniffled. "I didn't know if I could trust him though. You are older than me," she pointed out, then stopped, working her mouth again.

Ethan was there at once with the bottle of water. Franz helped Sara into a more solid sitting position, even though she was using him to brace herself. It was easier to have her drink that way. Particularly since Ed finally let go again. Franz watched her drain the entire bottle in slow sips.

"Thank you, Ethan." She smiled at her brother. "I can't wait to see Mom… and everyone else," she added, almost as an afterthought.

Franz was beginning to feel a little forgotten, stupid as it seemed. He was holding her.

"You know," Ed commented, "You're taking this awfully well for someone who's been through what you have."

Sara chuckled weakly. "I'm your tough girl, remember? I'll probably freak out later. I haven't slept… without nightmares, really, in… I can't remember how long. But… even if I didn't believe you had a flying machine, and came to rescue me… and I was really dead… this would be an amazing improvement over my cell and Yegor the Ogre."

Franz frowned. She had used that name twice, but he had no idea who she meant. "Who's Yegor?"

Sara looked puzzled. "The one who had me… locked up. It wasn't his real name… I don't think. He just told me…to call him that."

"Valhov," Ed supplied. "His real name was Gerase Valhov. He led a coup against the Drachman government. Chairman Gurina is dead."

Sara's eyes widened a little, but she looked far less surprised by this realization than her rescue.

Franz sobered. "You should know… in the rescue, I shot him."

"He's dead?"

He nodded.

Sara seemed to relax a little in his arms. "It's better than he deserved." She blinked then, and yawned. Her lids slid lower and her body drooped heavily against him. What little strength Ethan had been able to give her was clearly wearing out.

"Don't fight sleep, Sis," Ethan encouraged. "You need to regain your strength, so you can heal."

Sara nodded, her expression drowsy and unfocused. Franz settled her back down and re-tucked the blanket around them both. "Sleep, Belle. We'll all be right here. By the time you wake up, we'll be back on the ground."

Sara nodded, then looked up at him again briefly. "You look funny."

What did she mean by that? Maybe his pallor. He smiled weakly. "Flying doesn't agree with my stomach."

Sara chuckled, and one hand came up and touched his head. "I meant… your hair."

His? It took Franz a moment to understand. She meant that it had gone more than half steel-gray, instead of the deep, rich dark brown it had always been. It had only been a few flecks when she died. He _thought_ she had died, he had to correct himself. Clearly, Sara had never actually been dead. "I thought I'd go with a new look," he joked as Sara slipped back into sleep.

Edward didn't move. He just knelt there, staring at his daughter, with a sad smile, and wet eyes. "She'll be okay," he spoke after a minute. "She's already better off than I expected her to be."

Ethan nodded, seeming to agree with that assessment. "I'm amazed," he admitted. "She was more coherent than I expected." Given how disjointed the conversation had been, Franz wasn't sure what to make of that statement. "Though she said it herself, there'll be nightmares. They can't have spent most of that seven years constantly torturing her, or keeping her locked up on her own. If they had, she'd been a jabbering mess worse than Ling Yao was when they had him in that mental asylum."  
Franz winced. That was a mental image he did not need. "She accepted it awfully easily," he admitted. "I thought we'd get more disbelief, or screaming, especially about being in a plane, or maybe she wouldn't even recognize us or think we were fake…." Or a thousand scenarios that had not come to pass.

"I did just neutralize an awful lot of nasty drugs in her system," Ethan pointed out. "The calm could partially be a residual effect. This is a safe, if unexpected, environment. I don't expect she'd be this calm if we were, say, camped behind enemy lines when she woke up, or if one of our Drachman allies was the doctor here instead of me."  
All fair points. "It's not her first run as a soldier." Franz knew many soldiers who dealt with the trauma of combat, and sometimes capture, in different ways. Some reintegrated more quickly than others. He remembered when Elicia Elric had come back from Drachma, when she had been used as an alchemical subject and tormented. She had been a wreck. He remembered all of Sara's letters—and seeing briefly right after— what Edward had been like, having been held and tortured. After this long, he was amazed to find Sara was still mostly _Sara_. She had mentioned nightmares. There would be ups and downs, and counseling, and time, but they had not broken her, though clearly they had tried very, very thoroughly to destroy her. The slightly Drachman lilt to her voice was, he supposed, only natural after so many years having to interact with them. She was probably more than fluent. "She's amazing."

"You'll get no arguments in this plane," Edward quipped. "She's the toughest of all of us. She proved that just by surviving. She'll get through this."

Ethan nodded. "We've got much better treatments now than we used to, especially for emotional trauma and anxiety. We'll help her, however much she needs us."

Franz nodded. No matter what, there was a hard road ahead. He wondered suddenly how Sara would feel about all the changes in their lives, and their home, while she was gone. He had told James and Krista to make it theirs, and they had, even while insisting he stay. Now, he was glad they had, though he hoped Sara wasn't too disappointed in not having their bedroom anymore. His things were all in the downstairs suite.

Hers… well, they were still in boxes in the attic. He hadn't ever found the time, or the heart, to get rid of them. Heck, he hadn't even moved them out of the closets until the big rearrange. Thank goodness he had never taken an interest in another woman! He could only imagine the heartbreak her return would have caused for them both. But no, she had been the only woman for him, and always would be. Now, he could prove it all over again.

* * *

There were days when their chosen careers made living together complicated. Today, Tore thought, was definitely one of those days. He was, in fact, the only General in Amestris who knew where President Heimler really was, and there was absolutely no way he was going to say anything about it to anyone until he was forced to, or he got direct orders from Franz that whatever crazy thing they had gone to do had actually worked.

That did not mean that the Assembly was willing to sit patiently and wait. The three days deadline was already nearly half over, and no one had seen the President of the Military since two evenings before. Yet Tore could not give information on a top secret military mission to anyone, not even his wife who was a member of the Assembly.  
Their tired, groggy drive in to work was unusually quiet. Normally they babbled at each other about their upcoming day, and family, and planned for the evening, but right now the world had turned so completely bizarre that there seemed to be little to discuss. Particularly because Charisa was fully aware that Tore knew _something_ but was too professional to try and pry information out of him when he couldn't talk about it.

That did not keep the Assembly from bugging her to find out if she had more information.

"I'll see you later." Tore kissed her cheek as they got out of the car in the parking lot. "With my luck, it'll be in a hearing."

Charisa smiled and returned the kiss. "Hopefully it will mean that whatever President Heimler has come up with will work. Love you."

"Love you, too."

They parted ways there. Tore made his way to the main State Alchemist's office first. With Cal gone, he had a lot to keep an eye on. No matter what was happening up north, there were always reports to read about the alchemist's missions, updates, and the training program to keep up with. There were also reports coming in from the Labs: results, budgets. It never seemed to end and even though he had been helping Cal with some of it for years, Tore was always impressed by the amount of paperwork generated by the amount of work done by State Alchemists. That did not include the ones who also chose the command track beyond State Alchemy, though they were much fewer then there had been in the original Roy Mustang's day. Sometimes it still happened that an alchemist was better suited to commanding infantry, but for the most part, they now worked on specialized missions that were not always combat related; another sign of Ed and Al's legacy of turning the State Alchemist Program into a specialized military branch instead of weaponized humans. Were they still combat ready? Of course, but that was not their focus, and no longer how they were primarily viewed in the public eye. It mattered that they were seen as helpers, for the people, and great as defensive back-up if anyone invaded.

Not that he expected the world to forget their weapon capabilities, especially not if Valhov followed through on his threat.

The pile on the desk was thankfully small this morning. Tore poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot, which was freshly filled and steaming. "Who made the coffee?" he asked, turning and looking around at the desks already full of alchemists working on their own reports and projects. "And what magic did you use? It's actually good."  
Trisha Mustang looked up from her desk, and grinned, despite the sleep circles around her eyes. "That's because it's not military issue coffee. Fullmetal gave us a bunch of high-quality Aerugean stuff as a holiday gift. We really don't need nearly that much, so I brought half of it in. It should last us a while if we don't drink it every pot."  
 _One more blessing from Edward Elric._ If Amestris had a church, he'd be sainted. Or at least, Tore would nominate him. He suspected Ed would find it hysterical. "Well, I'll make sure to thank him next time I see him." He did not comment on the fact that the reason they didn't need it all was probably because Roy wasn't home.

"Any news?" he asked the room at large as he sat down at his desk. He didn't have to specify what he meant.

Also unsurprisingly, Trisha replied again. "Nothing from Drachma, as far as intelligence's last report. Valhov hasn't made any other public statements since the other night, but there has been nothing else in the Drachman news in the past twenty-four hours either regarding Amestris besides the fact that both sides are still sitting in a valley staring at each other. They can't even seem to make us sound threatening at that point."

So nothing from the top-secret rescue operation, since no mention was made of the Sara look-alike. The more Tore thought about it, the more he felt Valhov had to be bluffing. He couldn't know Amestris had a way to check on his claim. He probably figured they would cave, or he would just kill an innocent woman and blame it on the Amestrian government when his men attacked in self-defense. If there had been news on that, it would have been the first thing they told him.

Tore sipped his coffee, trying not to look as impatient as he felt. Waiting was never easy, but there was some crazy expectation of higher ranking officers to not be nervous wrecks. Tore had never really cared when he was just a Major. He really hated it now. As far as the majority of Amestris knew, Franz Heimler was holed up somewhere in Central working on a plan, or doing secret negotiations, or some such classified thing. Most of the country probably thought he was in his office. All of his staff knew better. They had all been told he was at home where it was quieter. James and Krista thought he was at work. Some thought he was in a special hidden room Tore had practically made up on the spot.

Things were getting complicated and he just really hoped that by the time he and the other Generals were summoned to the Assembly Hall sometime that afternoon—it was bound to happen—he would have something to tell them. If they insisted that the President show up, things were going to get difficult.

* * *

Alphonse had spent most of the morning sitting on Alyse's couch, waiting while his wife and daughter were out. He had read a little, but spent most of it watching the news, looking for any information he could find that might give him any clue at all as to whether or not Edward, Franz, and the rest had even made it to their target, let alone found or retrieved her, and what her identity had turned out to be. Not that he really expected anything useful to be on the news, but he might be able to ferret something interesting out of what they didn't say.

It also kept his mind off the reason for Elicia and Alyse's temporary absence.

Most of what was on was repeated information from the past couple of days, and rehashing what they knew, though reports were starting to come in from Drachma of specific cities that were still having conflicts and clashes, and where they could actually verify fighting had ceased. Three military outposts had stopped fighting amongst themselves. In two cases, those aligned with Mihalov and the previous government had one, and in the third—unfortunately the larger one—the Zinovek Valhov sympathizers. Civilian rioting was generally under control and had stopped due mostly to a lack of continued ability to carry on interminably. In most cities, the law enforcement had remained united enough to focus on keeping the peace more than politics. Many people just wanted to carry on with their lives, and things were settling down.

This was good, Al felt, for the people at least. It did mean, however, that the Valhov government would have an easier time of things. He was less pleased with that. Valhov reminded him of too many other Drachmans who had tried to ruin the lives of people he cared about.

Nothing at all of interest leapt out at him from the television set, and Al simply determined that there were some things you still could not learn from the news. He had given up that, and flipping through the papers, when Alyse and Elicia finally returned home.

The shopping bags in their hands explained the delay.

"Well?" he asked simply, trying not to sound concerned.

His daughter, face flushed from the cold outside, smiled. "I'm fine, Daddy. Still entirely cancer free."

"Thank goodness." Standing, he let her put her bags down before enfolding his daughter in a hug. There had been no reason to expect otherwise, but even routine doctor's visits made him worry anymore. "So you did some celebratory shopping?"

"We were going to do that anyway," Elicia teased him as she put down her own bags and took off her hand, scarf, and gloves. "Some of this is for Shelby, and some for the children. I figured if we're going to watch them this afternoon while Shelby's in class, than we might as well be prepared."

Al couldn't help smiling. "Don't you think she has things at her house for her own children?"

"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean they can't use a couple of new and interesting things to play with," Alyse pointed out. "They don't have a lot, Dad. These are fun, educational toys that they can use for a couple of years and all of them will enjoy. There's also some picture books and other things. With three babies, you do need more than one copy of some things. You remember how things get destroyed don't you?"

Al suspected Charlie had destroyed more things than Alyse and Will ever had combined, but he did not say that out loud. "Yes, I remember," he just agreed, "And I am sure Shelby and the kids will appreciate them." Shelby was finally starting her first semester of college courses. Maybe not the way she had original planned, but she had enrolled in two of her general education courses at the University of Central, and that was a start. Al and Elicia had gifted her the tuition for the holidays and refused to take no for an answer. She was also starting a job part time as a receptionist at one of the medical clinics in town, which would help, but they had wanted to give her something meaningful, something that would help with getting their family on their feet. It was also something Alphonse knew Shelby had desperately wanted to do. College had been her plan before she and Charlie had gotten in trouble… before adult life had eaten them up earlier than planned.

"We'll have fun." Elicia hung her coat in the closet, clearly excited. But then it had been a while since she got to spend time with her great-grandchildren. "Are you sure you don't want to come over there with us?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Al confirmed. "I'm too distracted to be of any use watching children. Until I know something, I won't be able to relax." Whether Winry heard something first or he did, it didn't matter. Al had not gone on the mission, because it had not been necessary. They needed to fly light and fast, and take only those they needed. He understood that, and he had no real wish to step foot in Drachma again. He didn't even feel hurt that Franz had not asked him to go. That did not make the waiting any easier.

Elicia kissed him briefly before moving into the kitchen towards the tea kettle. "I understand. You and the cat can hold down the fort."

Al glanced at Miss Whiskers, who was dozing lazily on the easy chair. "I'm sure in case of emergencies, she is a worthy second-in-command."

Alyse smiled wistfully. "Cal seems to think so. She's also his late night work secretary." The smile turned more amused. "He says she's perfect when he needs a cute girl to sit on his desk and glare at him to get his work done."

Al could not help the laugh that bubbled up out of him at that image. He needed a good laugh. "I can only imagine."

* * *

Despite the very solid reality in front of him, there was something surreal about hanging in the sky, suspended above the world, cradling the still-breathing body of a woman he had lost so many years ago. As the day dawned, then grew towards noon, and faded into early afternoon, the people on the plane grew quiet. There seemed to be little left to say that had not been said before, or could not wait until they knew more. They could not know if Valhov's body was found, or what was reported, or if anyone in Amestris knew they were coming. They had landed in the middle of nowhere, ever so briefly in the pre-dawn to refuel, and continued on their way without disturbing so much as a cow.  
Franz dozed off, but always awoke again to the sleeping form of Sara in his arms. It was definitely Sara, but the changes that Drachma had wrought in her pained him. Her ragged hair, her thin features, skin that hung too loosely over what had once been a muscular, fit, vibrant woman, now left in wrinkles, more aged, more gray. That vitality had wasted away leaving a frail, wisp of a creature.

Aside from their one conversation, she had not awakened enough to be coherent since, and Ethan said not to expect it until she had been given the chance to rest up and heal and regain her strength. Half of what she mumbled in her sleep was incoherent, and bits of it were in Drachman.

 _How could I let this happen to you, Belle? How could I not have known you were alive?_

* * *

The tension in the air in Karmatsk was thick, particularly in the Gurina house. That had not stopped Mihalov from doing a "morning report" news broadcast cheering on the government supporters and encouraging them to restore peace and order in their towns as soon as possible, and for those who had turned against the legitimate government to come to peaceful terms, so that they could discuss changes in the government sensibly and maybe rethink representation instead of destroying their own country, which he was sure they did not want. It was a firm message, but one with compassion and reason in it. He praised the areas that had already managed to restore some semblance of order, and briefly covered what they were currently doing, even from exile, to run the country.

While it was maybe a ten minute presentation, Gloria knew these little moments meant a lot in keeping the Mihalov government—as people were now calling it—in the forefront of everyone's thoughts and as a power in the country. He was not the only one who spoke. Each time they did one, a couple of the representatives from different portions of Drachma would have a message for their constituents. Now, the messages were in Drachman, unless addressed at the governments of other countries, which was rarer now as they focused on the important task of trying to retake control and heal Drachma. The Amestrian translations were left up to Gloria to report after the fact, and she was getting much better at doing them with minimal preparation beforehand.

What was strange was that normally there was some kind of counter-response from Valhov whenever Mihalov put out his own broadcasts. It might be a statement regarding his own government's actions, and it might or might not directly address Mihalov, but it was always there. Perhaps he was too distracted with the Amestrian military presence to care, but things had been strangely silent. There had been no word from Theo Vilnius either. It was almost as if Valhov no longer felt the Karmatsk exiles were a valid threat.

"Am I the only one who thinks that's weird?" Gloria finally asked out loud.

Alexei looked up from the book he was reading through—a history of the Gurina family—and shook his head. "No, I agree, it's bizarre, and out of character based on the pattern we have seen so far."

"Maybe he's rethinking strategy," Felix Tringham suggested. He had claimed a couch and was sprawled out, clearly enjoying not being crammed in a truck with five other people. He, too, had reading material. He was working his way much more slowly through recent newspaper articles, and a book on Drachman plants. For both, he had a dictionary. "Things don't look good for this coup. It doesn't seem to matter that he's sitting in the government buildings, because not enough people want him there. The country's a mess and he knows he can't afford a war with Amestris. If he did, he'd have Creta and Xing involved in days. That's why he's thrown out this insane bluff of his as a distraction."

"Do you think he's bluffing?" Gloria was torn on the subject, and she could only imagine the trauma it was causing in Amestris. It would be a media storm of speculation that she was missing, but more importantly, was what it meant for her family.

"He's got to be," the other male alchemist, Rex Neil, commented as he joined them from the snack table with a cup of coffee and a pastry. He flopped down into an over-stuffed chair and kicked his feet up on a cushioned footstool. "We've got him cornered, and he's panicking. I think he's miscalculated though. There's no way anyone from Amestris is going to buy it. Which means when nothing happens and we don't leave, he's going to have to put his military where his mouth is, and he hasn't got the soldiers. He's cornered."

He sounded so sure, so cocky that they had this handled.

Gloria wished she was so sure. Even Felix Tringham, who had known her family for years, seemed to think Valhov was making it up. Sure, he had a woman in a cell who looked something like her mother's cousin, but it could be anybody and no one would be able to verify otherwise. He wouldn't let anyone near her he couldn't trust.  
Alexei seemed to sense her irritation. He looked over at Rex with a hint of disdain; a look she almost never saw on his kind face. "So you're an international political expert now?"

Rex shrugged. "Nah, but this is pretty clear cut. I mean, who would believe he has a dead Amestrian who had a big, fancy, publicized state funeral in a cell in Drachma somewhere?"

Alexei's fingers tightened on the edges of his book.

Gloria held up a hand. "Let's not argue about it," she said quickly. "We'll know in twenty-four hours anyway what's happening. Someone will have to say something at the deadline he set." That at least, was true.

Felix nodded from the couch. "You need to learn to keep your yap shut anyway, Glacier." His eyes over the paper in his hands implied that he knew full well that Rex was running his mouth and didn't realize how it might be affecting other people in the room.

Gloria appreciated the consideration of her feelings, even if it wasn't really necessary. "Where are the others this afternoon?" she addressed her question at Felix. She knew that Caroline Flynn, the alchemist who was also in the diplomatic corps, was deep in private conversation with Lita Chalmers and her aides. They were discussing whatever information about the political situation Flynn had been asked to pass along and who knew what else regarding the situation. Probably directions from Headquarters on any negotiation opportunities that might arise, and the official stance Amestris was taking on this coup-turned-civil-war. That still left Vastillia, and her cousin, and the Drachman woman, unaccounted for.

Rex shrugged and answered first. "Vasti has been checking on all the folks who showed up here injured; using her alchemy to speed up their recovery. Then she said something about doing a tour of the local hospital, too. Don't expect her back anytime soon. She gets totally obsessed and focused on her work when it comes to anything medical."

"As it should be," Felix commented. "Last I saw, Proteus and Miss Marskaya were doing another scout-out of the city for tactical points: strengths, weaknesses, sniper locations, hidey holes, anything that might be useful if this siege lasts longer than another few weeks, or turns into a fight on us before we have military backup from any country. They left a couple of hours ago."

Rex snorted. "Scouting my ass. Our _fearless leader_ just wants to make a move on the hot Drachman chick."

"Shut it, Glacier," Felix growled. "Don't make me put you on report for disrespecting your commanding officer."

"For that?" Rex looked offended. "Geez, old man. No need to be so uptight."

The book closed firmly. "The house staff were working on knocking all the icicles off the roof hangs so they won't fall on anyone. Go give them a hand."

Rex's mouth was halfway open to retort when he seemed to think better of it. "Fine," he grumbled, downing his coffee in one long hot gulp. Then he stood up and left, stuffing his pastry in his mouth as he went.

Felix opened his book again. "He's a good alchemist, and a good teammate, but he can't sit still without running his mouth. This not being on the move is driving him crazy."

"It's all right," Gloria assured him. "It takes more than stupidity to offend me." Though it was interesting to see Felix put someone in his place. She knew State Alchemists had to stick to the same military structure as anyone else, but her perspective was skewed from having so many of them in the family. The kidding around she had just sort of come to expect. Gloria looked down at the notebook in front of her, and the piece half-written. It just wasn't coming at the moment. "Did they find anything useful on their previous excursions?"

"Ted and Anika?" Felix glanced over at her. "Oh yeah. Loads of stuff. They had several pages of notes and scribbled maps, but it's a good sized town. Definitely more than you can cover all of in a day, and even the areas that don't look tactically important might be later. I think they were also going to check out old maps and records in the town hall repository. Having a fluent speaker without anything else critical to do has been really helpful. If it comes to a fight, she's also a crack shot. She's not quite Riza Hawkeye," he grinned, "But we saw her work more than once. I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of her sights."

So Rex's speculations were just idle gossip then. Obviously they were getting a lot of useful work done. Well, so could she. Willing herself to focus, Gloria picked up her pencil and started working again on the introduction for this evening's Mihalov Report, as well as what she wanted to put in her work about what was happening for eventual publication.

* * *

:And that's when Leo fell out of the tree and almost landed on the elk!: Anika reached the punchline of her story.

:That's…terrible, and hysterical,: Ted couldn't help agreeing as he gasped between fits of laughter. Anika's stories about her older brothers were as quirky and strange and silly as many of the stories he had about his own older brothers. :He wasn't hurt was he?:

:Only his pride.: Anika's smile when she was in a good mood was bright and easy. :Though it was almost two years before he let me go elk hunting with him again.: She paused, looking around the snow-laden street. :This looks like the neighborhood we were told about.:

Ted nodded. An elderly gentleman a few blocks over had mentioned an old cellar that had been used as an emergency shelter the last time anyone had tried to besiege the city, over fifty years ago. It was actually the basement of an old estate smaller than the Gurina one, that had since burned down and been replaced by an entire block of the city as it grew larger. It was next to what some called the inner wall, which was a smaller stone wall that partially circled the innermost parts of the city, though it had come down in several places over the centuries. :He said the entrance was in a pub or a café or something.: He tried not to look cold, but today was particularly sharp, as the temperature had dropped even further overnight. The thickly falling snow did not make it easier to see. Still, there were a few people on the street going about their business, not caring that the sky was trying to drown them in white. Drachma was crazy.

:Over there,: Anika pointed. They crossed the street and entered a small shop that turned out to be something between café and pub: which was to say they sold a wide variety of drinks which could be had with, or without, alcohol. :Excuse me, Sir,: she immediately addressed the proprieter. :Mr. Vadosk said you could help us.:

The large, bulky man who seemed slightly out of place in a shop that looked like it served tea and coffee—even if they were alcoholic tea and coffee—smiled. :Vadosk sent you! I've been expecting you. He called right after you left his place. You must be General Marskaya's daughter, and the Amestrian Alchemist.:

News definitely got around fast. Ted nodded and offered his hand for a shake. :Ted Elric.:

:Yuri Palov,: the larger man nearly cracked his hand with a friendly shake. :Vadosk said you wanted to see the cellar. It's this way.: He nodded, motioning them around the counter. Ted and Anika followed him around back, through a door, and down a short hallway that seemed to dead end. Ted watched as Palov bent down and did something on the floor. Then he could see that what he had thought was flush wood flooring had come up very slightly, and was actually a door in the floor. Beneath was a very solid set of stairs.

:Today, most of the shops along here use it as shared cellar space,: Palov explained as he led them down. When he flipped a switch, the room lit up, and Ted was pleasantly surprised to find that the huge, dark space, which went on for quite some distance, had been electrically lit at some point in the past. What had once been separate rooms were now mostly wall frames, and he could see a few other sets of stairs coming down at roughly equal distances. :All of the entrances are hidden though, and since this isn't common anywhere else in Drachma, no one thinks of it. If we needed to, we could hide a few hundred people down here short term. Maybe two or three hundred longer if we're hiding the elderly, mothers, and children. We store a lot of food down here, but there's also basic plumbing.:

:This is incredible.: Ted wasn't exaggerating. He could only imagine how useful a place like this might be if it became necessary to hide people within the city. :How many people know about this place?:

:Just the neighborhood, mostly.: Palov laid one hand against the wall. :Chairman Gurina knew, but I don't think he told anyone in his family. Given the current situation, it seems appropriate to tell Mrs. Gurina, and her nephew. Not that he seems the type to hide, but there may be many people we need to put in a place like this:

:Thank you,: Anika spoke with soft reverence. :This means a lot. We promise to do our best not to reveal your secret to anyone more than absolutely necessary.:

:Oh, I know you won't.: Palov smiled at them both as they turned to go back upstairs. :We're all in this together in this town.:

:Where one goes, we all go.: Ted nodded.

As they got ready to leave, Anika took a look at the list of drinks available in the store. :It's cold out there. You want something?: she asked.

:Sure, but I don't have much on me.: Ted looked at the list as well, though he didn't know what half the names meant even though he could work out how they sounded.

:Oh it's my treat,: Anika assured him, pulling out her wallet. :Don't worry about it.:

:Yes ma'am.: He grinned, but he wasn't about to turn down an offer of hospitality. It would be beyond rude, and he really wouldn't mind something to drink. It had been a long, thirsty day of walking around the city. :I don't know what half of these say, so you choose something you think I should try while I'm here.:

Anika's eyes lit up. :I know just the thing.:

:Great. I'll find a seat.: Not that they didn't have their choice of tables in the small place at the moment, but he chose one near the windows, where the light was better for writing down notes. He had finished putting in their latest discoveries—all in code—when Anika joined him with two small, simple white mugs of something steaming and dark.

Very small ceramic mugs; teacups really. "It's awfully small."

Anika winked at him. "Trust me. You will only need one."

If they hadn't been allies that right there would have made him very suspicious. Trusting his instincts, Ted took a sniff first, then a tasted sip. What exploded across his taste buds was a rich combination of chocolate, coffee, spices, milk, and a definite solid hit of something strong and alcoholic, all rolled up into one. It was surprisingly smooth going down, though almost at once he felt a kick in his head and sinuses. "Wow."

Anika grinned, apparently enjoying watching his reaction. "We call it _akashta_."

"What does that mean?"

"Truth-teller. It has a tendency to make people very honest about all sorts of things."

"Are you afraid I haven't been truthful?" He teased.

"No. It's just funny watching outsiders try it." She shrugged casually. "Even I don't drink it often. One will keep you warm for hours."

Warm, and probably tipsy. At least for an Amestrian. Ted wondered if this was one of those Drachman things. It was not the hardest thing he had ever drunk, but it was up there. If this was something they sold in a street café… "Remind me never to try and out-drink anyone in this country."

"To be honest, I usually don't get the hard version," Anika admitted after a moment as she sat down across from him. "I just wanted to see your face, and we're about done for the day. So…" she shrugged, then took a small sip of the drink herself. Ted had the satisfaction of watching her nose twitch and her face screw up just a little bit herself at the first swallow. It was damned cute.

"Well, thank you. It's really good." Ted took another drink. Prepared for the hit, he found it easier to finish the cup than he had anticipated from the first taste. He certainly understood now why it was served in small cups. This was not the place or time to be drunk. If that happened, he wasn't entirely sure the truth-teller wouldn't work its magic.

* * *

James Heimler had no idea what to expect as he drove down the dark road towards the military vehicle depot just outside of town in the dark, with Grandma Winry and his sister, in the car beside him. All he knew was he had been sitting in his father's office with his boss, General Anastas, monitoring communications and waiting, wondering, when his father's voice had come over the radio, demanding that James meet him out here, that he bring Grandma Winry, Trisha, and that no one say anything until they were on the ground. Which only confirmed what James had suspected when his father "went missing" almost exactly fourty-eight hours before. When Valhov in Drachma had gone unexpectedly suddenly quiet as far as being out and in front and on the news. James refused to believe it was a coincidence. But why would his father want him, and Trisha, and Granny? Unless….

He thought his heart might burst pounding in anticipation as they pulled into the snow-covered lot. Fresh snow had fallen all afternoon, and while it was light, there was a good inch on the ground; just enough to cover everything. James saw Uncle Ethan's car parked by the fence, and decided that was the best place to park.

"This is nuts," Trisha whispered as she got out of the car, her breath fogging in the now clear, cold night air. "I didn't even know what to tell the kids."

"Shouldn't they all have been asleep?" James asked his sister kiddingly as he stood, closing the door behind him and staring up into the sky.

"Rosa was still up working on a project for school," Trisha explained. "I can't believe I just left my thirteen-year-old daughter in charge of the house this late at night."

"Everything will be fine," Grandma Winry assured them both as she joined them, bundled in her warmest winter clothes. "We told her to call Alphonse at Alyse's if there's any kind of emergency, but seriously, when I was her age I was working with metal-cutting power tools. I think she can handle a couple of hours."

"Sometimes your childhood stories scare me, Granny," Trisha chuckled, rubbing her arms with her hands for warmth, even with her dusky-blue wool winter coat on.  
James hadn't even had the chance to do more than call home and tell Krista he was going to be late. "Though sometimes they do almost make you believe in the impossible."

His grandmother gave him a knowing look. "I've learned to believe in the impossible. Mostly because your grandfather and Alphonse kept pulling it off. As long as there's alchemy, I won't discount anything."

James swallowed. "Then, do you think it's her?" he asked the question he had been trying to tell himself was impossible for two days.

Granny smiled. "One way or the other, your father asked for all of us. Read into that what you will. You're the one in investigations."

One way or the other. James sighed. She was right. Even if they had successfully made it into Drachma and back, this might just be his father's way of giving them a private moment to know the truth before everyone else. They could have failed. Or they might have rescued some poor Drachman woman.

Straining into the darkness, he finally thought he heard the distinctive sound of the airplane propeller, which he hadn't heard since Xing. Staring northward, he could just see a tiny speck of light in the sky that appeared to be moving. "There they are!"

Then they waited in growing silence as the plane grew nearer, and louder, and circled around. He was glad he hadn't parked closer to the road itself, because the plane whipped right by them as it landed, using the road as a runway. He waited anxiously, willing himself to military stillness, until the plane had slowed and come about, and come to a stop by one of the metal buildings. Then he was moving, first slowly, then at a brisk walk that would have been a run if the ground weren't so slick. Even with his long stride, Trisha and Granny kept up.

The hatch on the side was already opening, unfolding, creating a stairway to the ground, and there was a figure in the opening already. A figure with long hair tied back. Then he could tell it was definitely Uncle Ethan and not Grandpa.

"Ethan!" Granny Winry cried out before James could open his mouth. "I want answers!"

"Yes, Mom!" There was a note of relief in his voice, and James could see that his uncle was smiling, though he looked exhausted as they met him at the bottom of the stairs.

"Well?" James blurted out when his uncle did not immediately start reporting information.

"Did you do it?" Trisha demanded.

"See for yourself," Ethan replied, frustratingly enigmatic as he gestured up the steps. Still, he was smiling, so something had to be right.

James' heart was pounding as he hurried up the steps first, manners be hanged. Almost at once he stopped abruptly, feeling his sister slam into his back as he took in the sight of his father standing there, a woman's body cradled in his arms. Even without her hair, with her eyes closed, her face slack, her body frail and broken, the look in Franz Heimler's eyes told James what he needed to know. Suddenly everything blurred, and hot tears ran down his face as he moved forward, without feeling his legs move, until he was close enough to really see her, to reach out and gently touch her face, take in her scent. "How?" was all he could ask, even though he wasn't sure how much it mattered. The investigative part of him was dying to know how this was even possible, but in his heart, all that mattered was that somehow his mother wasn't really dead.

"Long story," his father replied with a grim expression. "But I wanted you all here first, before the media storm that's coming. Also, we'll need two cars."

Under James' hand, his mother stirred, and blue eyes fluttered open, and there was the slighted crease of a frown. Then… "James? Trisha?"

His heart broke open. "Hey, Mom."

Trisha shoved him sideways so she could get closer, and reach out and gently squeeze her arm. "Hi."

Yet James was not surprised when his mother, who smiled weakly at them both, looked right past them after a moment, and tears began to fall from her own eyes. "Mom…"

"Sara!"

James got out of the way as Granny Winry somehow managed to give her daughter a crushing hug that was also incredibly gentle, tears streaming freely down her cheeks as she sobbed and held her. His father just stood there, with a soft look on his face. Then he realized there wasn't a dry eye on the plane. Not even Marcus Kane, who was standing beside Grandpa Ed in the opening that led to the cockpit, watching. Of course, they'd had their own time for reunions.

This one was very short lived. Mom needed to be gotten to the hospital, and there was a lot to do and not very much time to do it. There was a flurry of activity as his father carried his mother to the warm car James had brought instead of the cold one that had been sitting for two days. "We're taking your mother to the hospital," he said without preamble, gesturing at James and Granny Winry, and Uncle Ethan who was coming towards them with the medical kit he had taken on the plane.

"What about me?" Trisha demanded, clearly upset.

Their father looked only mildly apologetic. "You're taking Uncle Ethan's car. Take your grandfather and General Kane to Headquarters. You're the only one left with clearance to get in at night. Someone has to report to the rest of my staff and the Assembly on what's just happened, and it can't wait until I can get there."

And he wasn't leaving Mom's side until she was somewhere safe. James knew better than to argue. Apparently, so did his sister, because she nodded, said "Yes, Sir," and took Uncle Ethan's keys in a handoff. As soon as the plane was away, they'd be on their way to headquarters.

James, meanwhile, was more than happy to cram into the front seat of the car with his uncle, while his father and grandmother sat in the back, with his mother between them, safely buckled in, but still mostly draped in his father's arms, as she was not really fully conscious. He desperately wanted the story, but he knew it was going to have to wait. It was painfully hard to keep his eyes on the road as he drove back into town, and then down the quiet, well-lit city streets towards the hospital. He wanted to look back, to fill his vision with his mother. His mind raced with a zillion questions. How had she survived? How had she ended up in Drachma? What was under the thick white medical wrapping that Uncle Ethan had obviously applied to her leg. What the hell had gone on in Drachma?

He settled for getting them all to the hospital alive and in as many pieces as they had shown up in, and parking outside the emergency room doors as Uncle Ethan ran inside. What seemed moments later he was back with two nurses and a stretcher on wheels, and they were lifting his mother out onto it, strapping her in, and running inside, leaving James entirely alone in a running car.

By the time he found parking and went inside, they had already assigned her a room, and he was sent to the second floor, where he found his grandmother in the floor's waiting area. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I was waiting for you," she assured him, smiling. "Don't worry. Everything's fine. Your father and Ethan and at least three other doctors are in there with her right now. She's not in any danger."

"How long do we have to wait till we can see her?"

"As long as it takes," she replied, far more outwardly calm than he was, despite the drying tear-streaks on her face. "We've waited almost eight years. A couple of hours won't hurt anything."

"You make it sound like she went out of town." James couldn't help fidgeting. He was tired, and amazed, and overwhelmed, and he still couldn't tell anyone. He wondered if anyone other than the doctors in that room knew who they were working on in there, and how sworn to secrecy they were. Patient confidentiality was about to become classified information level security. At least until his father dropped the news on the world.

Granny reached out and pulled him close in a hug. Startled, he reciprocated. "Patient is all we can be. Until she's well enough to tell us, we aren't going to get most of the story. Don't worry. As soon as I see Edward I'll wring the entire tale of the past two days out of _him_."

James chuckled. "I wish I could see the faces of the Assembly when they find out." Probably a mix of stunned outrage that his father had run off into Drachma in an airplane, on a whim, but it had worked, so that had to count for something. It almost didn't matter what they did after that. His mother was alive, and she was home. Any repercussions would be worth it.


	18. Chapter 18

**January 10** **th** **, 1990**

So much for being retired and put out to pasture, Ed thought as he and Marcus stood in front of the entire Amestrian Assembly in the way-too-early hours of the morning, on next to no sleep in the past two days, explaining exactly what had transpired over that past two days, including the fact that—while Drachma had suspiciously not said a word—Gerase Valhov was dead, and he had in fact somehow, miraculously, had General Sara Heimler, the Twilight Alchemist, in a cell as a prisoner, and she had not been dead for the past several years as they all thought.

Also that they had broken several dozen national and international laws in an undercover classified mission in order to perform this crazy miracle. Though he did stick to Franz's insisted story that they had taken off with him in the plane entirely on accident. He was convinced that no one in the room actually believed that, though. Still, it was the official story. Ed also changed one other critical detail—his version of the story matched the version Drachma was likely to be telling if they ever did come clean: that the guns used were those of the guards, and that one of Valhov's guards turned on him and then the two had killed each other in the ensuing chaos. He hoped Franz had the sense not to admit that he was the one who had killed all three men. He would talk to his son-in-law afterwards, hopefully before he talked to the press.

Everyone listed in stunned silence through the first telling, but afterwards, they were bombarded with questions, making them reexamine and re-explain large portions of the story again. Many of them had never known about the airplane that had been liberated from the Hashman Syndicate during the civil war in Xing. Ed explained in brief how they had come by that as well, then how they had used intelligence's information to locate the house, break in, subdue Valhov—and the intervening random shoot-out that Kane, thankfully, did not contradict—and rescue Sara. There was much less to tell about the flight back. What got the most attention was the very concerning fact that Drachma had sent a plane up after them, which implied that their connections—someone's connections—with the Hashman Syndicate ran deep enough that they had not only gotten a hold of a Hashman "victim" but also their technological information that everyone had thought destroyed in Xing. If they had one plane, they might have more. If they had planes, what else did they have? He couldn't get into an in-depth discussion on that, but there were more pressing matters.

The question of what Drachma would do. Surely by now the Zinoveks knew Valhov was dead. What would that mean? Was this whole mess about to fall apart and peace would be restored? When and how would be the best way for Sara's continued survival to be announced? On that, Ed pressed for that decision to be left up to Franz… and Sara. "We have a lot of unanswered questions, things that only the Twilight Alchemist can explain, but she has to be in a physical and mental state to do so. She's already in the military hospital where she can be tended to and fully evaluated. Once she is debriefed, there will be a lot for us all to discuss. For now, I know President Heimler intends to make a statement later today, but his plan right now, given what's happened in Drachma, is to see what comes of the other night's events. Without Valhov, Drachma may back down, or someone under him might be more reasonable and just let us have what we want so we can get out of their country. There are too many unknown variables. You trusted the President of the Military to make the best decision regarding this situation. It is my feeling that this was definitely the best decision. No matter who the woman had turned out to be, it would have removed the leverage Valhov had over us. In this case, it also coincidentally removed Valhov himself."

Thankfully, the Assembly did not seem inclined to demand a solution at that moment and were willing to wait for Franz, who would be coming from the hospital at some point, definitely before he had to make any official announcement. He would be waiting right up until that third day mark. They had been prepared for conflict when they sent General Fischer and his team into Drachma in the first place, and retreating now was not an option. Instead of waiting out the three days, Franz had changed the game, ostensibly in their favor.

"One last question, Fullmetal."

Ed turned to look at the man who had spoken, who had to be almost as old Edward himself.

"If we had this plane, why didn't we use it to pull our people out of Karmatsk in the first place?"

A very valid question. "Because I've seen them used as war machines," he stated flatly. "It was decided years ago, well before President Heimler's time, that this technology was too dangerous to be allowed to be mass produced or used, even for civilian purposes, because it wouldn't stay that way. We didn't want to reveal anything that might give Drachma—or any enemies—ideas. Then the Hashman Syndicate created their own prototype, and we stopped them, but it proved the point, because they had created them to deliver weapons, and fire missiles. When this broke out, President Heimler decided that the best course of action was to keep the plane where it was. Of course, that may change now that we know the Drachmans made at least one more. It seems likely that the one we destroyed was not their only one, but we also can't place bets that they did not radio to the ground that they were pursuing another aircraft. That it was us, they can only infer, but the secret is probably out, at least between militaries."

That seemed to be a satisfactory answer, because the man nodded begrudgingly.

Finally, Ed and Marcus were allowed to leave.

"I remember now why I'm retired," Marcus quipped as they walked through the halls of the Assembly building and out into the pre-dawn early morning. "This up at all hours and being grilled thing is for the birds."

"The birds aren't even up yet," Ed pointed out, yawning. They were going to be stuck here for a while. Trisha had dropped them off, then gone home to check on her kids. By now, Ed had no idea if she was at the hospital or where she was. Eventually, someone would come for them. "Let's go over to the office and see if there's coffee in the pot."

"Now there's memories." Marcus shook his head, but smiled as he followed. "Part of me is still having trouble believing we just pulled off a mission that crazy… and survived."

Ed smiled as they crossed the complex grounds and entered the building that contained the State Alchemist's offices. "I can't ever thank you enough for this, Marcus. You know that right?"

Marcus shrugged casually. "There was no way I wasn't volunteering for this mission, Ed. Even on the slimmest, most impossible chance, I'd have gone. Any of us would. The fact that Sara is alive after all this time, no matter what's happened in the interim, is nothing short of a miracle. I'm almost sorry the Syndicate was destroyed years ago, or we could rub it in their faces."

Ed definitely agreed with that sentiment.

The office was empty. Of course, it was barely five-thirty in the morning, so there was no real reason for anyone to be in here right now. All the important work was being done in Investigations, or in the President's office, even though he wasn't present.

The coffee pot was also empty. Figuring no one would mind fresh hot coffee ready on arrival, Ed went to the cupboard to get some. Reaching in, he pulled out a familiar looking package of Aerugean roast. He'd bet even money Trisha had brought some in to work. "Looks like we don't get nostalgic sludge though, unless you really want it."

Marcus snorted as he glanced over Ed's shoulder and saw the package. "I am not _that_ far gone. Make the good stuff."

* * *

It felt wrong for a dream, or for anything that had recently been in her experience of reality. It also did not match any of her hallucinations. That, above anything else, convinced Sara that the world around her—and her rescue—were genuinely real and not some figment of her imagination.

For one thing, while she still hurt like hell, there was something dulling the agony that normally radiated from her leg and up her body. Yet her head felt abnormally clear and lucid. When the drugs wore off, they never let her get this far before dosing her again. She retained her sense of self, but it was hard to tell what was real, what was illusion, and there had always been pain.

There had not been the sharp clean smell of disinfectant and linen sheets. Or the musky lilac scent of Franz's favorite aftershave. She had certainly fantasized about his presence enough, but her mind had never been able to fully recall the scent, or the sensation of his warmth. Those had come to her in the middle of her pain and delirium, and stayed through the jostling and confusion of flight, the sensation of being carried up and away. Moments of lucidity returned to her, and she began to piece together the trip to this place… this place that was not Drachma, or Yegor's basement. Not Yegor…. Valhov. Valhov was what Franz had called him on the plane—where did they get a plane?—and he was dead. The man who had plucked her from abandoned obscurity in the Drachman prison system, had treated her as an intelligent human being, only until he had gotten from her what he needed. If she hadn't failed to escape… well, it did not matter now. If Franz, and her father, and her brother, and Marcus Kane said he was dead, than it must be so.

There were none of the loud noises of the plane now, or the vibrations that had been a constant. It was quieter, but not silent. From somewhere not too far away she heard squeaking wheels, and murmuring voices, and footsteps on hard floors. There was a sense of open space. Those voices, the words, what she could make out. It took her brain time to process, to realize why they sounded strange to her ears.

They were Amestrian.

Sara opened her eyes, staring up at the bright white ceiling from a hospital bed. Almost at once, she felt something stir beside her, and the warmth and lilac musk moved, and a blurred face resolved itself into thick, greying hair, glasses, and deep brown eyes in the handsomest face she had ever known. "Are you awake?" Franz asked, his voice soft and concerned.

Sara couldn't help but chuckle weakly, though the sound was harsh and unpracticed. "Are you real?"

Franz frowned, apparently not understanding her joke. Perhaps it wasn't that funny. "I am."

"Then so am I." She tried a smile. It had been a long time since she really smiled. "Where's Ethan?"

"Right here." Her brother appeared on the other side of her, leaning over but clearly trying not to hover too close. He looked eager, and older too. They both did. Sara wasn't sure she wanted to know how she looked. She hadn't seen a mirror in a very long time. "Do you need something?"

"I'm parched…and starving," she realized. "Anything will do. Maybe a new knee?"

Ethan chuckled. "Water and food we've got. I'm afraid the knee is going to take more work."

Sara nodded. She had known that for a long time. It had been their favorite thing to mangle when she had made escape attempts. It was a swollen, lame, ugly mess she had learned to work with, and a source of unending slow agony. Or at least, it had been. Right now she almost couldn't feel it. "I do still _have_ a knee, right?" she asked, as it occurred to her that the leg might not have been salvageable.

"It's still there," Ethan promised. "You're just on a lot of very excellent drugs right now: painkillers, anti-inflammatories, antibiotics…."

"Well, that's a lot better than what Yegor kept stuffing down my throat." Sara tried to move, but found her limbs all felt very heavy, and something twitched beside her. Taking the time to look, she saw an IV line running into her arm, tapped tightly. Following it up, she could see a bag just out of the corner of her eye. Medicine certainly, but she knew enough to tell they were also hydrating her. No wonder she felt more alert, and her mouth no longer felt thick, fuzzy, and dry. Just disgustingly dirty. "Am I going to lose it?"

Franz looked immediately upset. "Now we don't have to worry about that-"

"I want to know," she cut him off abruptly, and more sharply than she had intended. "It's my leg. I know it's in terrible shape. The last time I had freedom I could barely walk on it."

"When was that?" Ethan asked.

"What day is it?" she asked in reply. The last time she had seen a newspaper had been too long ago to be sure of how much time had passed. So much of the years since the kidnapping were like that. Blurs of time, punctuated by pain, or an escape attempt, or a barely memorable conversation: from the Syndicate, from the Drachman prisons, from Yegor's prison of an estate….

"January tenth," Franz answered.

Almost seven-and-a-half years. Sara felt a sudden surge of emotion, and her vision blurred as the tears fell once more from her cheeks. "I didn't know. Oh, god… I didn't."

"Shhh." Franz's arms closed gently around her. "It's all right, Belle."

"No it's not," she replied, not caring if her voice sounded even worse for sobbing. "They made you think I was dead! The whole world-and I couldn't get out! I tried _so_ many times, but they tortured me, took my alchemy, and shot me, and broke my leg, and locked me in solitary…" Her arms went around Franz as well as she could reach in their awkward position on the seats, and she squeezed tightly. "I tried so many times...and I tried to stop him… but they stole almost _eight_ years of our lives! They've killed _so many_ innocent people." She had fed Yegor information only that was useless, harmless, or half-truths…..as far as she knew. Never anything classified. Never anything she thought would hurt Amestris…. but he had hurt Drachma. She knew, only because he had told her in lucid moments, trapped, unable to do anything about it, about the movement, the plan, the violence. She just hadn't known his specific position.

"You're amazing." Franz' reply startled her. "All this time, and you kept fighting. You must have been an incredible pain in their asses." There was pride in his voice. "I have no doubt that if they hadn't blocked your alchemy, you'd have blasted them."

She could wish, but in her heart, Sara doubted. She _had_ tried. That was why they had branded her. "I failed."

"No you didn't," he contradicted her fiercely. "You stayed alive all this time."

"But I _told him_ things," she objected, the guilt that had sometimes consumed her as she answered his questions, always trying to find a way to spin the truth in Amestris' favor, to avoid giving away anything meaningful. "I tried to stop this."

"You didn't tell him anything critical." Her father's voice filled the space with a sudden note of finality.

Sara looked away from Franz, to see her father standing in the doorway. "How can you be sure?"

Edward shrugged and leaned against the doorjamb. "Did you give him any state secrets?"

"No."

"Did you tell him anything Amestris would actually _do?_ "

"No." She shook her head, ever so slightly. "I…. I told him we probably wouldn't get involved, and that the Assembly would never be willing to negotiate for a hostage, not even me."

Franz chuckled. "Well, we didn't negotiate, did we?"

Sara tried looking between them both, but gave up and stared at her father, wondering what he was thinking. She could not absolve herself so easily, though his statement reminded her, abruptly, of what Yegor—she might never be able to think of him as Valhov—had told her, about Franz becoming President of the Military. If she hadn't seen a reference to it in a Drachman paper once, she would never have believed him.

"From the intelligence _we've_ gathered," her father continued, "This coup has been in the works for years. In fact, the only reason it didn't happen sooner is because we took out most of the Hashman Syndicate, using the same plane actually, _and_ destroyed their facilities for making more of these, or the missiles they were supposed to fire."  
Missiles, more planes? "When was this?" Sara had no idea what he was talking about.

"Oh, a few years ago." Franz answered. He smiled down at her. "There was a little civil war in Xing. We stopped it. Ed, Al, and Winry hijacked the plane and used it against the Syndicate, blew up their base and destroyed their entire authority structure."

Sara frowned. Something about that stirred an old memory. "That's probably when the Drachmans got a hold of me and put me in the prison system." They had argued over her, she remembered. The Syndicate wouldn't let Drachma have her. She was too valuable as a hostage. Then one day, she'd just been taken, and dumped in a Drachman prison.

"It would make sense," her father agreed. "Afterwards, we took the plane and stored it, hidden and covered and unmarked, in a government facility. Almost no one in the government even knows it was still there. Well, until now." He looked over her at Franz. "The secret is pretty much out now that I've had to report to the Assembly. Though given we just had to fight another one out of the sky, I think we're looking at the dawn of a new age in technology." He didn't look thrilled, and Sara could imagine why. Already they had only been used for warfare. Though she was incredibly grateful for the rescue. "Not that I'm sorry we did it," he added, his smile returning. "After all, this rescue mission not only brought you back to us, but it has the extra bonus of removing the government's primary ace from play. They've got no leverage. All they did was succeed in making us sufficiently angry to do something insane. Which never turns out well for them."

Sara felt a small chuckle build inside her. "Well, I appreciate how you all rushed to the rescue, but… what made you believe it was me?" Yegor had told her they all thought her dead. She'd had a big state funeral. That she had believed.

"Honestly?" Franz looked embarrassed. "We had no way of knowing. It sounded ridiculous, absurd. But we couldn't just leave it without knowing. I… I couldn't let you die twice." He shifted slightly beneath her. "And if it wasn't you, we would have freed a woman who didn't deserve to be tortured or used as a pawn any more than anyone else." He kissed the top of her head. "But I am so _very_ happy it's really you."

"I was afraid you'd moved on by now," Sara whispered her fear to him. It was a long time to live alone. She knew, because it felt like a lot longer.

"Not in a million lifetimes," he whispered back. "Though I should probably catch you up on things that have happened while you've been away."

"That would be nice."

"While you eat though," Ethan cut in. She hadn't even seen him leave, but he was back with a tray of hospital food. Not that Sara felt like complaining. She could not remember what she had eaten after being tossed in that cell. She was never clear-headed enough to be sure, though they must have fed her enough to keep her alive.

She was grateful that the bed was one of the ones where they could adjust it to help her sit up, because she discovered quickly she did not have the strength to do so on her own. Sara wondered what else they might have her on, or if she was just too tired to be completely overwhelmed. Not that she hadn't gotten very good at locking away fear and doubt in the past several years. Survival in the Drachman prison system had required it. It hadn't all been torture and pain. Years of hard labor and being otherwise forgotten were a different kind of torment.

The tray in front of her smelled delicious. It wasn't heavy food, but a bowl of chicken and noodle soup, a slice of buttered toast, and a tall glass of milk looked like a feast. "This looks amazing."

"Are you sure you're not delusional?" Ethan teased her.

"It's not cold, and it's not spoiled," Sara pointed out. "Please tell me it's spiced with _something_."

"It's hospital food, not a five-star restaurant. But there is a little salt and pepper."

She'd take it. Sara reached out again, finding she could at least lift her own spoon. She refused to be a complete invalid. The first bite was divine. She took several before looking at her husband. "You promised me news. Tell me everything but… start with the kids." She had a vague, fuzzy memory of Trisha's voice, and James, and her mother.

"Are they here?"

"They were earlier," Franz assured her. "James had to go in to HQ to handle some things for me. Trisha had to get the kids off to school and hit the office, but they'll both be back later."

"Mom?"

"She'll be back too," her father promised. He had moved into the room and taken a seat in one of the other chairs. "She's gone to get Al and Elicia. They'd like to welcome you back too."

Sara had a feeling there were going to be a lot of happy, tearful reunions in the coming days. Which would make the hardships worth it. Compared to the last few years, she was looking forward to regaining her strength, her mobility… she didn't even mind the amount of debriefing she was going to need to do at Headquarters. Not that she expected she still had a job. Would they let her be unretired from being dead? That made her glance at Ethan. "You still haven't told me about my leg," she remembered suddenly.

Ethan looked sheepish. "I was going to say earlier, before you got emotional and huggy, that it will need several surgeries to fix your knee. I was able to remove the transmutation circle they branded into your neck, so I was able to heal some of your other injuries, but not that. It's been broken and healed off too many times for a simple healing."

Sara paused. It had been so long since she had done alchemy, she had almost forgotten… "I can transmute?" she stared at him, feeling a flicker of life she had thought extinguished.

"Once you get your strength back, yes," Ethan nodded. "If you try before I tell you it's okay though, I will have to scold you severely."

"Oh no, not that." Sara picked up the toast and resisted the urge to stuff half of it in her mouth. The food was making her hungrier. Her heart felt light and soaring. She would have her alchemy back! "That brand was one of the first things they did to me when I tried—and almost succeeded—to escape."

Horrified and sympathetic expressions were plastered across the faces of all three of the men in her room. "You know someday we want to hear the whole story right?" her father asked.

"Someday, I'll tell it," she promised. She wasn't entirely sure where she would start, or what she would include. There was just so much of it. It was easier to think in terms of what she wanted to tell Franz… or what she would need to tell the military… or maybe a counselor. There would be an assigned psychiatric physician, she knew that, and she didn't mind. There was a lot she wouldn't mind working through with someone who wasn't family. She wondered if any of the ones she had known before were still practicing. Right now though, was not the time. "Franz… family?"

Her husband smiled. "Well, the first thing I should probably tell you, is that James and Krista are married, and they're living in the house with me… well, us now. They talked me out of moving out and getting a smaller place." He shrugged. "I tried but they wouldn't let me. I gave them our old room and moved downstairs into the large guest room."

"Good for them." She felt a moment's joy, and affection for her son for taking care of his father. She had never expected to see her house again, so being in a different room didn't seem like much of a change. As long as the bed was comfortable, and Franz was in it, it would be perfect. "Do they have children yet?"

"They have a daughter," Franz replied. "Aithne. She's the most adorable toddler."

"What a pretty name. Just the one?"

Franz hesitated. "They've had some trouble in that area." He didn't say more, but he didn't need to. Sara didn't press. It was a private matter and James should decide what he wanted told, even though curiosity was burning in her to know more.

"I can't wait to meet her," she replied, smiling. Another grand-daughter to cuddle, and one living right in their house. "How about Trisha?"

"She's doing just fine," Franz assured her. "She and Roy had another little girl. She's five now."

Two new granddaughters! "And what's her name?" She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

Franz's expression was momentarily unreadable. "Sara."

A lump formed in her throat, and Sara had to fight not to cry. Tears formed anyway. "I'm touched."

"They couldn't imagine calling her anything else."

* * *

Given his choice, Franz would have remained there in the hospital all day—and every day, until Sara was well enough to leave—telling her about her grandchildren, and how Rosa was almost fourteen, and growing into quite the young woman, and Gabriel and his interests, and little Sara, and all the things everyone had been up to, even though she would get to see for herself soon enough.

It was harder to answer her questions when she started wanting to press him on politics, and the current situation. She was tired, and frustrated, and he could still see her guilt in her eyes. She felt some responsibility for what had happened, even though he could not imagine how anything she had said had really led to this moment. He would find out, he supposed, when they debriefed her officially, which she already had insisted she must do as soon as she could. There was one thing, however, that had to be discussed. "I have to tell Amestris you're alive," he said, as the time neared when he really had to go. "When I do, the world is going to be in an uproar. The military, the media…. I wish we could keep this quiet longer, but there's no way to do that if we're exposing Valhov for the monster he was. He used you against me, and against Amestris, and the world needs to know that he failed."  
His wife; his brave, fearless Sara shrugged and nodded. "Of course you do," she replied firmly. "And you had better! If I weren't stuck in this bed I'd tell them myself. Tell them what kind of a monster he was. Tell them what he did to me…all of it; whatever it takes to convince them. I can deal with the press. They can just wait until I'm good and ready to talk and they'll be sorry if they try and push me around."

She sounded so strong and solid, so like the Sara of years ago, that Franz' throat tightened. IN the past day he had seen her strong, he had seen her unconscious, he had seen her smile, and he had already seen her cry like a broken child. They had a long way to go, but from the little she had told them of being captured, passed off from one prison to another, effectively forgotten, except when she caused trouble and tried to escape…and they broke her again, and again… or tried at least. Franz had just enough of an idea of the shape of things to understand how she had survived. Sara hadn't been a young pup when they kidnapped her. She had already been a war-hardened, experienced soldier, and a General in her own right. They had discovered how hard it was to break a woman like that, and while she was banged up inside and out, they hadn't been able to tear apart her sanity, or her spirit.

"I'll tell them," he promised. "They'll be sorry they messed with us."

"Well the Syndicate was," Ed commented. "You'd think Drachma would have learned a lesson when we blew them up."

"Apparently they don't take object lessons well." Sara had looked pleased—ferally so—at the news that the Syndicate was defeated and scattered, and hadn't showed any signs of reforming in the years that followed. "Now, kiss me and go save the world."

Franz blinked at the forcefulness of the request, but more than willingly complied. "When I get back, we have a few years of that to catch up on."

"This is not a hotel," Ethan commented loudly.

The sounds of family laughter were a beautiful thing, especially Sara's. It bolstered Franz, and carried him as he made his way back over to Headquarters. He had to know what was being said in Drachma, if anything. If they did not make an announcement soon, his pronouncements were going to be particularly interesting. Drachma might even try to deny it, but without Valhov or the ability to produce him, eventually the truth would come out no matter what they did.

After that, he would face the Assembly, and he wasn't sure what the consequences would be for his actions. Edward had told him, upon his arrival at the hospital, that he had lied to the Assembly on Franz's behalf, and the story that he and Marcus had told about the firefight that had broken out being between the Drachman guards instead, putting the blame for Valhov's death on his own men. Franz was grateful, but he had been more than ready to accept punishment for his actions. He had murdered three men to save his wife, and he couldn't say he was sorry for it. Not right now, and possibly never. They had been hostile men, in enemy territory, and they had been torturing one of his own… his very closest and dearest.

He didn't even make it in the door before he was accosted by three Generals, two Assemblymen, and Tore Closson, all of whom followed him upstairs to his office, where he found General Anastas and James still waiting, sitting, scanning the airwaves as if they had been sitting there since he ran off to Drachma. "Anything interesting?" he commented without preamble as he walked in, as if he'd just been down the hall.

Anastas stared at him, but James grinned. "Nothing of note, no. If you want to get a jump on Drachma on breaking the bad news, I told the broadcast team to be waiting for you."

Well wasn't that convenient. Franz would have to thank his son later for the forethought. "I'll meet them in a few minutes. There won't be time to get the press here, but that's fine." He didn't need anyone asking too many questions, not right now. There would be enough to answer for when it was all over. "I find it very suspicious that they haven't made any kind of announcement yet."

"They're waiting to see what we do," Anastas replied. "They don't know we know he's dead, so it's likely they're counting on us to be kind, compassionate people and back off to protect their hostage, and our people they've got blockaded up in Karmatsk."

"Which would also imply they haven't realized we have alchemists in Karmatsk now." Franz was grateful, for once, for the fragmented nature of Drachman society. It seemed that most of the quality intelligence people had not sided with Valhov and the Zinoveks. There was an awful lot they didn't seem to know. With the head cut off the beast, they might soon manage to restore some semblance of order, or at least the government with whom they had been able to negotiate successfully.

Franz took a few minutes to look over the reports waiting for him and the updated information on what was going on on the ground in Drachma. There was also a short, cryptic message from Cal Fischer, who had apparently gotten Franz's radioed message about being ready as they flew by, and had understood exactly what Franz meant. _Tell her this is quite a way to make an entrance,_ it read.

He took a moment to change into the spare clean uniform he kept in his office, and put on his insignia.

Finally, there was nothing left to do but proceed down to the press room, where the crew was waiting to televise his speech. The news outlets had been informed that the broadcast was coming so they could cut it in on their feeds. Franz wanted everybody watching this one.

What he had to say was, in itself, very short. "Good afternoon Amestrians, and any who may be watching from other Nations. I know that many of you have been waiting for this moment since Gerase Valhov delivered an ultimatum and a threat almost precisely three days ago. He threatened to end the life of a woman he claimed to be my dear, departed wife if Amestris did not back down. Well, Amestris does not _back down._ The hostage was found to be held in Valhov's own basement, and has been freed and is no longer in any danger from the Zinovek threat. Now, there are two things that they have not told you, which I will tell you know. Firstly, their hostage was, in fact, General Sara Elric Heimler, the Twilight Alchemist… my wife. It appears that her death seven-and-a-half years ago was faked by the Hashman Syndicate, in league with elements of the Drachman underground, already then plotting against Chairman Gurina's administration. She was left to rot in the Drachman prison system, until Valhov pulled her out to use for his own purposes. On that note. It is important that I share with you one other very important piece of information that the Zinoveks do not want you to know, though I am surprised they have remained quiet on it for so long. Gerase Valhov is dead. He was found in his home two nights ago shot dead, apparently by his own bodyguards. So, no, Amestris is not bowing to the demands of a dead man who could not even maintain the loyalty of his own followers. One who made threats to kill women he had tortured who could not hurt him. Those are not the actions of a good leader. They are the actions of a coward. So here is what I want, from whoever in Drachma has the authority to make a deal with me: allow us passage to Karmatsk. Allow us to bring home our people, and those of the other Embassies currently blockaded under siege. Do this, and we will leave peacefully, but we are not leaving without the people we came for. The Twilight Alchemist is already out of your reach and safe, so don't bother trying to find her. If you wish to negotiate… you have my number."

* * *

It was amazing how incredible it felt to be truly clean. It had been months since Sara had been able to have the luxury of bathing, and while they had clearly cleaned her off as best they could on the plane, and once she got to the hospital, it had not been as thorough a scrubbing as she had insisted upon after she had finished her food, and Franz had left, and Alphonse and Elicia had come to visit.

Once things quieted down, Sara had insisted on bathing, even if it was haphazard and she couldn't stand on her own in the shower with her injured leg, or with the IV still attached to her arm, which the doctors were willing to take out temporarily now that she was conscious and could drink fluids on her own. Her mother had helped her, and Sara had scrubbed everything as clean as she could, and rinsed her hair three times, though it was so short and ragged it had taken very little really to get everything out.

Being able to brush her teeth and have her mouth feel clean and crisp was almost heaven in itself. Afterwards, she got into an old, warm, flannel nightgown that was actually hers; dug quickly out of storage at the house by her mother and Krista. It was strange, yet familiar as Sara reveled in its softness, and the smell of fresh detergent. Apparently Franz was still using the same brand they had used years ago, and Sara marveled at how many smells she hadn't realized she associated with _home._

"That is so much better," she said, full of warm contentment as she snuggled back into bed. Even with the IV re-attached, she felt far more human. Though she wondered at the strength of the medications they had her on, that she had slept without nightmares, and that she felt so calm, and not jittery or panicked like the drugs Yegor had forced on her had made her feel. For the first time in years, she did not have to be on the alert for danger, or question everything she was told, or doubt the sincerity of people who should have been on her side. Somehow, she had survived. It was strange, and wonderful, and while it left her full of questions about the future, and what she would do now that she was home, and how she would ever fit back into her life, right now all those concerns felt just a bit distant and far away. Right now, it was enough to continue to live in the moment, surviving one second at a time. Now, that meant enjoying them, instead of wondering if each would be her last.

"You look much better," her mother admitted. "I can't imagine how you looked when they found you. Your father said Ethan's already done a good job of healing a lot of your injuries, and you're less pale than you were last night."

"He's done a lot," Sara nodded. The bruising was gone, her ribs were whole, and while she knew her brother couldn't undo years of scar tissue or badly re-healed bones quickly, she felt a little more whole inside, though she wasn't entirely sure she could say what he had changed. "I can still barely believe they pulled me out after all this time. I mean, obviously it's real, but…"

"I understand." Her mother smiled as she reached out and gave Sara's hand a squeeze. "It wasn't quite the same thing, but I lost your father and Alphonse through the gate for seven years, with no idea how they were, or if they were alive either. Then I went, and it really was a whole different world. It was jarring, and surreal. Your father used to tell me he felt that most of the time on the other side of the gate, he felt like it wasn't entirely real. You've been through so much, but you're home now, and that means you have plenty of time. Time to heal, time to spend with your family, and enjoy life."

"It sounds almost too good," Sara admitted. "I guess it's just still sinking in that I'm really free. I had almost given up. Once they took my alchemy, and broke my leg, and abandoned me, I figured since everyone thought I was dead they had just moved on; that I was just a bittersweet family memory. When I found out what they did, I was so angry, but I tried to escape so many times, and I failed over, and over again."

"But you kept trying."

"Sometimes I'm not sure why, other than you taught me to be stubborn. When I didn't know what was happening, I could only wonder. Were you all okay? Were you even alive? Or had people passed away while I was trapped elsewhere, never knowing that I was still alive. I began to feel like maybe, it didn't matter. I was alive, but my life wasn't mine anymore." Once she started, it was easier to keep talking, telling her mother about her fears and insecurities. Things she wasn't sure she was ready to share with others, but it had never really been her way to keep her opinions and thoughts to herself. Her mother listened, patiently, kindly, as it all came out in a rush, always wondering if her children were safe, or if the Syndicate had killed others she had just never heard about, being in Drachma where the newspapers reported very little Amestrian news, not that she saw one often or heard anything. Had Franz moved on? Had he found someone else or was he living alone? She talked until her mouth went dry, then she drank water and talked some more, until the worries had run themselves out. "There was a period of time, when Yegor pulled me out of the prison system, but before he locked me in his basement and tortured me, when I was able to get new, what little was available anyway. He was trying to get information out of me, but I wasn't being tortured. I had regular food, and a comfortable bed, and I started to heal. I never trusted him, but I thought, maybe, he wasn't the type of monster I'd dealt with as a Syndicate prisoner. Then, I failed to escape, and I learned how I wrong I was." She shuddered, remembering the attempt, and the pain… the never-ending rounds of pain and fear that had come after, until she had been saved, not due to anything she had done, but because Yegor had miscalculated.

Her mother's expression ranged from sympathetic to furious to understanding. "You didn't fail," she said with a note of finality. "Don't ever think you did. When you're a captive, you've only failed if you give in without a fight. You kept fighting. You stayed alive… you stayed alive in a prison system that loses and kills people, and you stayed alive long enough for the enemy to make a critical mistake, which meant that we _could_ send a rescue team."

"For a woman you didn't even know was me," Sara reminded her. "Let's face it. Realistically it was far more likely to be some poor beaten, crazy Drachman look-a-like."

"You mean like the one we buried with honors?"

Sara looked up and saw her brother standing in the doorway. "How much did you hear?" she blurted out.

Ethan smiled. "Easy, I just got here, but I thought you might want to know I've been investigating what happened the day that warehouse exploded. I don't have a full story yet, and I'm sure you can fill in a lot for me, but you should know that the fake they planted after they ambushed and kidnapped you was extremely convincing. The best I can tell, they got someone who fit your type and look, and then alchemically altered the body after death. Even you dental records used to verify the body matched. It fooled me, it fooled Franz… it fooled all of us. That wasn't a random event of terrorism, it was a trap, set very specifically to take out a very high-priority and challenging target. No one thought you had died easily. Finding out you didn't, frankly that's even more impressive."

"I hope everyone feels that way." Sara doubted everyone would. "By now, anyone who watches television or listens to the radio is going to know I'm alive, which means anyone who pays attention to any form of news media will know by tonight. I had a lot of time to think in prison, and when Yegor was trying to get information out of me. The fact that I survived is only going to be heroic to the people who don't question whether or not I sold out to survive. They'll be asking a lot of hard questions: did I provide them with any classified information? Did I sleep my way out of prison? Did I betray my country just to spend another useless day in hard-toil drudgery and pain?"

She appreciated that neither one of them tried deny that people would feel that way. "We'll deal with it," Winry assured her. "All of us. _We_ will believe whatever you say happened."

"You're my family, of course you will." Still, it was reassuring to hear it. "That doesn't mean people will believe _you_. You're not objective unbiased observers in this situation."

"There is that," Ethan acknowledged. "But you said you wanted a full military debriefing as soon as possible. That's not a bad idea, when you're strong enough. People will be reassured that proper procedure is being followed like it would with any recovered prisoner of war, and when they decide you didn't do anything wrong, you'll be in the clear."

"What if they don't decide that?" Sara wished she had their confidence in her. She had certainly tried not to do anything that would purposefully betray Amestris, but she couldn't know if some of what she had said had turned out to cause problems, even if it hadn't been intentional. She had given the information freely when she had given any at all, and had never broken under torture. That was one reason she wanted them to decide instead of her; she really wasn't sure herself if she was guilty of any wrongdoing.

"Then we'll worry about that later," Ethan replied firmly. "You've been under a lot of stress for a very long time. What you need to do now is focus on yourself and healing, and getting back into your normal life. Let the Assembly and the military handle Drachma. Valhov may have used you as a threat and a hostage, but this wasn't about you before that, and it's not now. This is bigger than any one of us, and there's no way you started it. So I don't want you to fret about that."

"I should be reassured by my obscurity is what you're saying." Sara actually found the idea amusing, and she smiled. "Weirdly enough, that is kind of reassuring to be told I'm unimportant. Thanks."

"That's not what I meant." Ethan looked embarrassed.

Sara chuckled. "I know."

* * *

The word from Drachma, when it came, was as short and direct as Franz Heimler's declaration. The man who appeared, and whose voice was heard across Drachma and outside it, was younger than Valhov by at least two decades, with dark hair, and a severe expression. While Gloria did not recognize him immediately, it was clear that the Drachmans in the room knew who he was. Several scowls appeared.

:Good evening, Drachma, this is Genn Savahin, former second-in-command to High Commander Valhov. Two nights ago, Valhov was brutally murdered in his own home by traitors to our cause. This afternoon, Amestrian President Heimler declared that they do not intend to leave Drachman soil peaceably in direct contradiction with government orders. As newly instated High Commander, I declare Amestris in violation of any terms of truce held between our two countries. This is an act of open violence and will not be tolerated. The exiles in Karmatsk are traitors to Drachma, and anyone allied with them is officially an enemy working against the interests of our great nation. There will be no more worthless negotiations. Franz Heimler, consider this your response: you will regret your hasty and ill-chosen actions.:

For several seconds after the speech ended, the room was silent. So, that was it then. Valhov was dead, Sara Heimler was alive, and this Savahin had just openly declared war—for all intents and purposes—on not only the exiled government, but Amestris, Creta, and anyone who chose to ally with them.

"He's either insane, or supremely confident that he can take us," Ted commented from somewhere off to her right.

Mihalov looked particularly concerned. :I'm afraid that, in this case, it is probably both, and it concerns me what that might mean.:

:They must have something left that we don't know about,: Anika commented, scowling. :A weapon.:

Gloria shuddered. She hoped they didn't have to find out what it was, but she was not foolish enough to deny the possibility. She had a strong intuition that everything was going to blow up before it calmed down.

* * *

 _Author's Note 3/19/2019: Because, of course, it wasn't going to be that easy. ;)_


	19. Chapter 19

**January 11** **th** **, 1990**

Genn Savahin was a man of immediate decisive action. If they hadn't heeded the warning of the night before, the Amestrian soldiers would have been unprepared in the morning when, at first light, the Drachmans at the other end of the valley stirred to action and attacked.

As it was, the first volley consisted of tank rounds that flew through the air, over the ravine, and tore into the high dirt walls the alchemists had set up that night, under cover of darkness.

Roy Mustang was proud of the alchemists under his command, and grateful for foresight and functional electronic equipment. He and Fischer and the Colonels had all agreed last night after the broadcast that they should expect a fight imminently, and had spent the night preparing under cover of darkness.

The first walls were extra-high berms of dirt, meant to slow the Drachmans down, but not necessarily to stop them. Behind them was a second row, reinforced with metal yanked from the earth below them. It was behind these that the Amestrian soldiers formed their first lines. The Drachmans were going to have to get closer if they wanted to actually hurt anyone. Especially not with the alchemists now able to openly transmute. Some were assigned to repairing the berms, while others unleashed havoc in the "back field" by bringing down avalanches and starting minor earthquakes under the Drachman units.

If the Amestrians had their way, the Drachmans were going to have a very tough time engaging their enemy. So far, it seemed they were going to have it, which suited Roy just fine. Trisha would kill him if he got himself killed before he got home. Especially with the news that her mother was alive and home safe. He hadn't gotten to talk to Trisha since they left Amestris, but he had been with Fischer when the unexpected, cryptic, and very broken radio transmission had come in from Franz Heimler. They knew what it meant, and the news yesterday had just confirmed it. The continued existence of the Twilight Alchemist, who had survived almost eight years as a prisoner of war, lit a fire underneath the alchemists that was part lift in morale and part burning desire for justice for one of their own, one who had become a legend in life and after. For a few of them, this was even more personal than that.

"Anything new to report?"

Roy looked over his shoulder as General Fischer joined him on top of the short observation tower they had erected to see beyond the walls. "Nothing of substance. Their test shots haven't made it past the dirt, and I've got alchemists rebuilding that each time they do, from the inside out. So all they're doing right now is wasting ammunition and figuring out who has been making them uncomfortable since we got here." He glanced over at Fischer and grinned. "You want to have some fun with them, Whitewater?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, there's an awful lot of moisture in the air today," Roy shrugged too-casually. "It would be _such_ a shame if their tents and ammunition got soaked."

Fischer smiled that smug, slightly feral grin he used to use a lot more often. "You're right. That would be a real shame."

* * *

"So, what's next, Mr. President?" Edward asked Franz as they sat in Sara's hospital room over Franz's lunch break. His son-in-law had been, as he would have expected, spending every free waking moment he could escape from Headquarters here, with his wife.

"On which front?" Franz asked around a mouthful of hastily-gulped sandwich.

"Let's start with the local media and the news that my daughter is alive and home."

Franz frowned. "They've been calling enough we had to take the primary public line into HQ off the hook and tell the switchboards to connect anyone calling about that to one of my Aides, whose only permitted comment is that interviews and questions about Sara will be fielded when she is well enough and ready to speak out, and when there aren't more pressing matters like the conflict with Drachma to contend with." He swallowed his food. "That and the hospital has had to send several away already. You'd think they would have a little more decency in regards to someone's privacy."

Ed snorted. "That is one thing they've never had. From a human interest aspect, this is still the biggest news in years. It's too bad Gloria's up in Drachma reporting on the biggest international story of the decade, or she'd eat up the chance to be your exclusive interviewer."

Sara, who was still groggy from sleep and having just finished her own lunch, smiled tiredly. "Well, we could always wait for her. It would drive everyone else crazy."

"Maybe then they would stick to reporting on important matters," Franz grumbled. "Not that you aren't important," he blurted out almost immediately, looking horrified.

"I know what you mean," Sara assured him, reaching out her hand and laying it on his forearm. "You know they're not going to leave this alone that long though. They can't get into Drachma without risking their lives, and I'm right here in Central. A couple of days ago I was in Petrayevka. Surely they're dying to know how we crossed that distance. I haven't heard anything to make me think anyone saw the plane."

"It's true." Ed had found it very interesting that not a single person had mentioned flying machinery, or his dogfight over Petrayevka and the surrounding countryside on the way out. If Drachma had realized what had happened, they were keeping just as tight lipped about it. Ed doubted they had seen the last of Drachman air machines. "Seeming back from the dead after seven years a captive, rescued from Drachman and sped in inhumanly record time home to Amestris. It's a juicy story."

"Maybe you can novelize it for me," Sara suggested. "You know, in a couple of years when this all dies down. I can give you lots of great material to fictionalize. For one thing though, I'd like to do a lot more damage in my escape attempts."

"I could do that for you." Ed felt his heart soften, even as a lump formed in his throat. It did that often lately. He hated that they now had something else in common, and that his daughter had spent far longer under the torturer's instruments than he had. Only the cursory information they had gotten so far explained to him in any way how she had come through her ordeal relatively sane. "You'd make a far prettier hero than I did."

Sara snorted. "Not right now I don't." Her free hand went up to her short, jagged-shorn hair.

"Hair grows," Franz commented with soft reassurance. "I always wondered what you'd look like with short hair."

Sara made a funny face. "You always insisted you loved my long hair."

"I did!" He exclaimed. "And I still do, but that doesn't mean I couldn't wonder, does it?"

"No. No, it doesn't," Sara agreed. She didn't seem upset. "Just don't be upset if I don't ever cut it again."

At that, Franz smiled. "You do whatever you want, Belle."

Watching them together, Ed was tempted to slip out of the room, but right about then Ethan returned for Sara's next alchemical treatment, and round of medication. "We'll have you up and around in no time," he grinned positively as he set down the medication, and a cup, and set his silk-scarf wrapped hand down on his sister's shoulder.

"How much time is no time?" Sara asked.

"Fixing your knee is probably going to take multiple surgeries," Ethan admitted as his hand started to glow, ever so slightly. Ed was impressed that Ethan had progressed to the point where he could hold a conversation with the patient and transmute at the same time. At least for simple things. "We can speed up recovery with alchemical healing between the surgeries, but your leg has been broken and re-healed so many times in the wrong ways, that it's not even a functional knee. We're going to have to re-break and re-set several bones, and replace most of your knee."

"How do you replace a knee?" Sara asked, looking intrigued.

Ed had to admit he was also very curious. In the case of someone like him or for an amputee like Cal, or someone with missing parts like Ethan, it was a simple matter of auto-mail attachment. Here, however, Sara still had her entire working leg except for part of the knee itself. When they reconstructed it, they would need something to hold it all together without freezing her knee in place.

Ethan smiled proudly. "With something I've been working with Rockbell Auto-mail on development for some time. Or, more accurately, Mom and I have been working on the design _for_ Rockbell Auto-mail. Instead of replacing the entire leg, joint, muscles and all, we're going to install what is basically just a framework to which we can properly reattach the functional parts of your knee. From the outside, when it heals, it will just look like a normal knee, probably with a few scar lines. All the metal will be inside, treated so it doesn't degrade, and it's entirely mechanical, so there's no necessary wiring to maintain."

"I'm impressed," Sara admitted. "That's definitely preferable to amputating my leg and doing full auto-mail."

"I thought you would like it." Ethan paused, then removed his hand. "Now, what we will need to do is wait until you're well enough to start the surgeries. We'll need to break and reset some things before we can do a full reconstruction on your knee. Right now, frankly, you're too weak and fragile to put under for surgery."

Sara made a fact at him. "Say that again and I'll beat you up."

Ed chuckled. "I never like it when they say that to me either," he assured her, hoping she wouldn't take it too personally.

"I know it's hard to be patient now," Ethan continued, "But it'll probably be a few weeks before we can start."

"I'm not going to have to stay in the hospital that long," Sara stared at him suspiciously.

"No, no," Ethan assured her, smiling and waving his hands in the air placatingly. "As soon as we can be sure you're well enough to go home, we'll discharge you. It does mean we'll be sending you home in a wheelchair, though I'll send crutches too in case you're up for them by then. You'll want both until we get your knee reconstructed and you've finished PT for them anyway."

Sara clearly did not like any of this, but she sighed, and nodded. "I'll take what I can get. You're right, I've had to wait this long. I just never thought I was going to get my leg back, and now that I'm going to be able to do alchemy _and_ have my leg back, I'd like to get on with it as soon as possible."

"One thing at a time." Ed chided his daughter gently. "It's like you're trying to get everything done at once."

"I'm over seven years behind," Sara replied flatly. "I've got a lot to do."

He supposed that he couldn't argue with that logic. "You've got your debriefing scheduled for tomorrow, don't you?"

Sara nodded, while both Franz and Ethan looked irritated. Ed knew they would rather she waited until she was stronger, but Sara was adamant that it was something she needed to do, for her own peace of mind as much as to give Amestris all the information she could. "You can be there too if you want, Dad. You'll probably hear it all eventually anyway. You… and Mom. Will they let us do that?" she looked at Franz.

He shrugged. "They'll do what I ask them to do. As long as they aren't interrupting or getting in the way, there won't be any problem."

"Me, interrupt?" Ed grinned. "Never."

* * *

"So, what're our orders, Chief?" Rex asked as Ted joined the rest of the State Alchemists in the Amestrian sitting room where they were all sitting around the dining table with a variety of hot and cold drinks, waiting for him.

Ted poured himself a mug of thick, black coffee and sat down at the head of the table. He had spent half an hour on the radio with Central Headquarters getting orders from the Shock Alchemist, passed down from the President's office. Orders, and news. Most of it just confirmed things they were getting from intelligence, or hearing from the television stations out of Petrayevka—which was still all they were getting on that front—but it was good to have solid intel on anything. "For us, not much has really changed other than we have more free rein," he explained. "With the change in leadership and the openly hostile response from Savahin, Amestris has officially sided _against_ the Zinovek government, even if that does not extend to a formal affirmation of alliance with Mihalov's government yet, beyond what our old trade deals would imply, and the fact that we are sworn to protect and help civilians. So we have permission to carry out any defensive—or offensive—measures we deem necessary for our safety, and the safety of the people within the city of Karmatsk."

"Anybody?" Caroline asked with a heavy emphasis on _any._

Ted nodded. "As far as Amestris is concerned, everyone here is in danger from violent outside forces that are a threat to public safety. Particularly since they have urged for peace and not continued fighting in all the locations where hostilities have broken out on both sides, Amestris feels that they are acting only defensively and as the victims of a violent government overthrow, deserve to have their lives protected. We have been given permission to decide for ourselves when to work with Mihalov's men, and when not to, so long as we do not agree to any actions that work against Amestris' position here."

"It sounds like that would be pretty hard to do," Vasti pointed out. "Especially from here."

"Well, we're still State Alchemists. So no repeats of _Ishval_ , and nothing that will hurt civilians. No heinously cruel actions. The usual." Nothing any of them would dream of doing anyway. "Now that we're actively engaged in combat with the Zinoveks south of Petrayevka, if the soldiers outside do try to start anything, we do what we need to." It also meant they weren't limited to traditional tactics. "Our goal is still what it was before. Protect those we can, pull our people out if we get the opportunity. Otherwise, hold the fort until Whitewater can meet up with us here."

"That's a lot of flexibility. We shouldn't have any trouble working with that," Felix nodded. "In the time we've been here all our preparations have been along similar lines anyway. Have you spoken with Mihalov yet?"

Ted nodded. That had been the stop between the radio room and here, because it had been critical to pass on not only information from Amestris, but to make it clear where they stood, what their orders were, and what they could and could not do to help Mihalov and his people. "That's where I just came from. He knows where we stand, and he's grateful we can do as much as we can. I don't think he'll try to ask anything that countermands our orders." He paused for a drink. "I also found out from him that he anticipates the siege outside will turn into a fight instead of a waiting game in the next day or two at most, based on what he's heard, and how Savahin has already had his forces engage Whitewater's. Though we do have some backup coming."

"How many?" Felix perked up.

"Several hundred soldiers. The military outpost at Vizlia is firmly under control again. Apparently there were very few Valhov fans there, and so they've managed to stabilize things and are sending a large portion of their manpower this way. It'll take them several days to get here, but when they get here, it should be very unpleasant for the gate-crashers outside." Ted felt very satisfied at that thought, also reassured; the idea of fighting them all off with the aid of mostly civilians was not a pleasant concept. "Savahin has pretty much declared Mihalov and everyone here treasonous enemies of the state and their lives forfeit if he gets a hold of them. A lot of people aren't taking too well to his much more extreme way of doing things." The man had all the makings of another Drachman dictator, and Ted was beginning to wonder if he hadn't planned to take the government out from under Valhov at some point himself. "But it sounds like we're going to be up here a while, so we're going to need to rest when we can, and be ready for anything. It also means someone's always got to be on duty, or the first on-call at the very least." Until they were actually in combat, there was no reason to go to twenty-four-hour surveillance. Mihalov did have men for that. "We'll need to rotate our time off. With five of us, I'm going to recommend split duty hours outside of combat, two shifts on, one off, staggered, with a repeating day at the end before starting over. It gives everyone time to replenish and relax, but it will keep us all sharp and alert and ready for action."

"Well, that's a weird work roster." Rex chuckled. "What's it for?"

"It's so we're not all drunk at the same time dummy." Felix cuffed at Rex's head, though not seriously, and Rex ducked easily.

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

Caroline looked mildly offended. "For you, perhaps. I do think it's a good idea though. That will make three shifts?"

Ted nodded. "I'll take shift one, Felix and Caroline, you'll take shift two. Rex and Vasti will take shift three." Everyone nodded and no one argued, not that Ted had expected them to with those assignments. Of course the schedule would go to hell the moment fighting destroyed any kind of regular schedule, but for now it was something. "If we presume starting this morning, that means shift three gets the rest of this evening off."

"Does that mean you have work for the rest of us?" Caroline asked.

Ted nodded. "Lita Chalmers has requested your presence as soon as she gets off with HQ, which should be soon now if she hasn't already." He turned to Felix. "Mihalov has requested your assistance with encouraging the brambles we came through on the way in to take over _more_ of the back wall of the city. He'd like coming in that way to be as inhospitable as possible."

"And what will you be doing?" Vasti asked with a grin.

"Besides writing up my reports?" There were definite downsides to being in charge, though he wouldn't trade it for anything. "HQ wants to know how my conversation with Mihalov went tomorrow, so I need to get that in line tonight."

"No fun for the weary then," Rex chuckled.

"No, not really." Ted finished his coffee. "I'll see you all at breakfast, presuming nothing happens before then." He would really like at least one more good night's sleep before all hell broke loose.

* * *

Gloria was deep in the middle of a crafting another paragraph when a knock on the door pulled her out of her descriptive reverie. "Who is it?" she asked without bothering to get off the bed, where she had piled the pillows against the headboard. Her notepad rested up against the angle of her knees.

"Room service," Alexei's very distinctive voice came muffled through the door.

Gloria couldn't help smiling. "Then I guess you can come in."

The door opened, and Alexei backed in, carrying a tray that contained two steaming cups and two thick slices of pie, heaped with freshly whipped cream.

The writing could wait for a moment, she supposed. Setting down her notebook, Gloria swung her legs around the side of the bed so she could sit up. "Well now, this is first rate service. What kind of pie is it?"

"A local specialty," Alexei said as he set the tray down on the table in the room and brought her a slice, and the cup, which proved to be thickly honeyed tea. "It's got peaches, almonds, and cranberries."

"Four of my favorite things!" Gloria reached for the pie.

"Four?" Alexei gave her a slightly perplexed look.

"Peaches, almonds, cranberries, and you." Gloria enjoyed it when she could put Alexei at a loss for words, however momentarily, and the way he flushed when embarrassed—which was rare—or caught off guard by an unexpected compliment.

"Hopefully not in that order," he chuckled, recovering quickly. He sat down beside her with his own slice of pie, his left shoulder touching her right. "I'm not sure I can compete with almonds."

"You already won," Gloria pointed out as she picked up a fork full of pie. "I'm marrying _you_ , not this pie." She stuck the fork in her mouth, enjoying the rich sweet of the peach contrasting nicely with the tangy tart of the cranberries. Somehow, the smooth almond held them all together. "Wow."

"Have I lost you to this pie?" he asked, grinning.

"No, but I will need to get the recipe." She had already collected several around town—and from Alexei's relatives—for her own use, but she was beginning to think that a Northern Drachman Cookbook, written in Amestrian, might sell well back home; At least, as long as this civil war didn't turn into an all-out Continental war.

For a couple of minutes, there was nothing but chewing, the enjoyment of the food, and the closeness of snuggling together. Gloria relaxed, and when the pie was finished, she let herself just lean against Alexei's shoulder, the empty plates forgotten on the table. "This is nice. Thank you."

She felt his arm slide around her shoulders. "I thought it might be nice to steal some time away from everything else, for just the two of us." Alexei gave her a subtle squeeze. "It hasn't really been the holiday we hoped for."

That was certainly an understatement. "The first part was pretty amazing though," she reminded him, looking into his dark blue eyes. "Your family is great, and Drachma is beautiful in the winter. The culture, the food, the history… and seeing all of this with you, has been perfect, because we've been together."

"Not so much lately," Alexei pointed out.

She opened her mouth to object, but she couldn't. It was true, and from the look on his face, he didn't want to say that it was at least partially her doing. Which, it was, she realized. "You're right. We've been kind of wrapped up in this whole mess, and… I know I can get pretty focused on my work. This has been incredible, and terrifying, and we've done so much since we got here—except spend much time together." Gloria felt a twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry."

Alexei's smile surprised her. "I didn't come here for a guilt trip, but I'll take the apology. We've both been up to our necks in work since we got here, and I'm as guilty of getting hyper-focused on tasks as you are. It's what makes us both great journalists. I just wanted to be sure you didn't feel like I was ignoring you."

"We've been working together for hours every day, so no, I definitely do not feel ignored." Gloria smiled back, relieved. "I just wish I had noticed sooner. A romantic evening would definitely be a pleasant distraction." Given the uneasy, volatile nature of their situation, focusing on solving problems and helping had been a good way to keep from panicking. This, however, was definitely a more enjoyable alternative. "So, what did you have in mind?"

"I hadn't presumed further than this," Alexei admitted. "What would you _like_ to do?"

Gloria reached up with her free arm and pulled him down toward her. "We could keep each other warm," she suggested before she kissed him.


	20. Chapter 20

**January 12** **th** **, 1990**

Ted heard as much as felt his jaw crack as he yawned over his breakfast. While it hadn't been a raucous evening, it had been a long one, and he had stayed up later than he had intended, mostly working alone on their strategy plans and finishing his latest reports for Headquarters so he could send them on before they potentially got cut off from home again. He tried not to think of _them_ as stuck up here. They had gotten in, he was sure they could get out again if necessary, but there was something honorable and heroic about staying. Whatever the official word was, Ted would bet his uncle wanted to hold on to their good ties with Drachma if possible, and that meant putting the less-sadistic, less-murderous leadership back in power. No one wanted to go back to the days that had led up to—and during—the Drachman War. It occurred to him, that he had never asked the Drachmans what _they_ called their invasion of his homeland. It had seemed inappropriate to ask, though he suspected Anika would be willing to tell him.

It hadn't come up last night, though having her working with him had certainly made the evening far more pleasant. She had been able to help include some useful strategic information of the area they had covered, for Fischer's use, and information that the Amestrian government might find useful in aiding civilians and avoiding conflict with the wrong people if they did have to send in more soldiers to back up Whitewater's unit.

Someday, maybe when this mess was all over, he really needed to ask Anika out on a date.

Movement drew his attention, and he tried not to smile too smugly as his cousin walked into the room, dressed for the day, but still in house-slippers, and her hair damp from the baths. "Sleep well?" he asked unobtrusively. He was dying to ask more—he had seen Alexei slipping out of her door in the wee hours of the morning—but it would have been beyond inappropriate to ask his cousin straight out about her romantic encounters with her fiancé. Curiosity was not worth rudeness.

Gloria looked at him, and after a moment the general sleepy expression turned mildly suspicious. "I did. Why are you smiling like that?"

"Oh, no reason."

Her face infused with pink. "I don't like what you're implying, _Edward_."

"I'm not implying anything," Ted assured her, though he decided it was best to be a little more straightforward, and back off a bit at the same time, if he could manage it. "I just happened to see a certain journalist coming out of a particular doorway this morning." He shrugged. "You can do what you want, Gloria. I'm not going to judge."

She looked like she wanted to hit him as she poured herself a glass of water and took fruit and a breakfast pastry. "I don't owe you any explanations, so you're not getting one." Then she sat down a few seats down, and began to eat.

Well that was… fair. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I shouldn't have asked. It's not my business." He looked back down at the Drachman newspaper on the table he had been slowly trying to work his way through. The staff had been kindly delivering any news that came into the city to the sitting rooms of all the different groups currently staying in the estate. It made it much easier to stay up on what was going on, as well as the spin the opposition was putting on it. Not that anything was coming in from outside the city by way of the roads, but radio and television were still sending enough out that the local paper was collecting it all and publishing anything they could even remotely verify. Ted was amused that almost anything attributed to Savahin was under the "editorial and opinions" section.

"Anything new or useful?" Gloria asked when she had finished her breakfast.

Ted shook his head regretfully. "Not really. It's pretty much repeating everything we already know, plus rumors of who is actually in control of which military bases, but it's less detailed than what we're getting from what remains of Drachman intelligence and Gurina's personal spy network, which don't seem to mind answering to Mihalov at all.

Family loyalty is apparently a useful thing, even here." He grinned at her across the table.

Gloria gave him a small smile back, but nodded briskly. "Then I'll look at it later. I've got a lot to get done this morning. See you later." She stood and was gone without another word of explanation.

Ted was contemplating a second cup of coffee when he heard Gloria speak indistinctly to someone in the hallway. A moment later, Alexei walked in, looking nearly as bleary and also freshly showered; notebook and camera in hand. He set them down at the end of the table and started filling his own plate. Unlike Gloria, he opted for black coffee, and hot cereal loaded with fruit, nuts, and honey. Then he sat down across from Ted. "Anything good?" he asked, looking at the newspaper first.

Ted was beginning to wonder if either of them thought about anything other than journalism and each other. Possibly not. He repeated what he had told Gloria earlier, which elicited a grunt and a nod from Alexei, as if that had been all he was expecting.

Alexei ate without conversation, and finished two cups of coffee before he stretched. Ted could hear his back popping all the way up, and tried not to wince. "You'd think with beds this nice it'd be easier not to get stiff."

"Didn't sleep well?" Ted asked, trying to sound casual.

Alexei chuckled and shrugged. "Nope, slept like house cat. Everything has been so busy lately and the schedule has been so weird I'm out as soon as I hit the pillow. I'm just used to a firmer mattress. These thick, fluffy things are too soft for my taste, honestly."

"After spending a week in a truck with five other people, I like them," Ted countered but he nodded. Alexei was taller and had bulkier muscle mass than Ted's leaner frame. The mattress probably didn't support him as well.

Alexei grinned. "Well, I can't complain about how spacious they are." He stretched again, then stood, collecting his equipment and supplies. "If you'll excuse me, I've got places to be and people to interview." With that, he was gone too.

Ted decided it was time to leave before Rex showed up. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what his fellow alchemist had been up to all night and Rex was _not_ shy about over-sharing.

* * *

 _I requested this,_ Sara reminded herself as she tried willing her heart to relax, and her muscles to stop tensing up. Lying in her hospital bed, which was cranked up into a sitting position, she found herself facing the debriefing team she had requested which, lacking her last direct superior officer since Cal Fischer was in Drachma, consisted of General Anastas, head of Investigations, Tore Closson, as the highest ranking State Alchemist available—in Cal's stead—and the appropriate member of the Assembly with the right clearance. In this case, it was a middle-aged woman Sara had only met once or twice, by the name of Ruthe Cantaola. She seemed pleasant enough. When Sara had gone missing, Ruthe had been a junior member of the Assembly, only in her second term.

Behind them, in chairs along the wall, sat Franz and her father. It was a stretch even letting him be there, and only because rules never seem to apply to the Fullmetal Alchemist had no one insisted he could not be present. Not that Sara suspected her father would have left the room willingly, and no one could have removed him against his will, even at his age.

She really wanted them to know what she had gone through, because she wanted them to know why she hadn't come home to them, but that didn't make it easier to face the fact that she had to admit to how many times she had failed to escape. Not that she actually knew what questions she would be asked for this particular session.

"I'm ready," she told them once her brother was out of the room.

It was Anastas who started. "Please tell us what you remember of the night of the explosion in West City."

Well, they were going to take it all the way to the beginning. So be it then. "I went into the warehouse with Colonel Wexman. Almost as soon as the lights came on, I heard gunshot, and Wexman fell over—shot in the head. I turned to face whoever it was, but instead of being shot at, the end of the building exploded, and I dove behind a pile of crates to avoid the shrapnel." As she spoke, the memories resurfaced, clearer than they had been in years. "Everything was on fire. That's when they attacked me. I didn't know who it was at the time; I just tried to fight them off. I didn't have time to draw a circle, so I was using close-quarters combat training. The building started to come down around us, and I had knocked out two of them when something cracked me across the back of the head, and I blacked out." It had hurt furiously, she remembered that much.

"What happened then?"

"I was unconscious for days. When I woke up I was in a Hashman base, in a cell. It took me a few days to figure out we were somewhere in the Aerugean Jungle. I could hear the wildlife outside through the vents. They just left me there, other than to slide food into my cell, and twice-a-day visits to the bathroom." Funny how that seemed almost luxurious after her later experiences. "I tried counting the days based on the sounds I heard from outside, and I figured I was there for about six weeks before they tied me up, drugged me again, and hauled me to Drachma. That took a couple of weeks of sneaking around in backwaters and wild, uninhabited places. I'm not even sure whether we went through Creta or Amestris. I tried to escape, but they kept me too drugged to see straight, let alone get anywhere or do alchemy." It was embarrassing to admit, even now.

Now, she was getting to the part she needed to tell them. Well, the first. "It was there that they tortured me for information. It went on for weeks, using most of the usual interrogation techniques… the ones we don't use," she clarified, purposefully not meeting her father's eyes. "Hot pokers, drugs, stretching, knives, whatever they thought might get them information without killing me."

Anastas nodded thoughtfully. Tore looked disgusted and furious. Ruthe Cantaola's face had gone pale and slightly green. "What did you tell them?"

"My name, rank, and to go stuff their own fecal matter up their noses mostly," Sara replied. She hadn't broken then, which she _was_ still proud of. "They wanted to know about our State Alchemists, and our lab facilities, and our training methods, and what artifacts or alchemical objects we had in military control, all sorts of things. I didn't give them anything at all useful, and finally they gave up. Or something else happened, I'm not really sure, but they just tossed me in a Drachman high security prison and that was the last time I saw a member of the Hashman Syndicate."

"They just stopped?" Even Tore looked skeptical, which he had every right to be.

"I know it doesn't make sense," Sara admitted with a shrug. "Maybe they just needed to dump me somewhere no one could get a hold of me. It didn't seem like they thought they were getting rid of me entirely. From what I could glean from conversations I was never supposed to hear, they were working with someone in Drachma."

There were several nods in the room. "We have other corroborating evidence that puts Valhov in that group," Tore told her. "They've got a hold of technology developed by the Syndicate that we thought we had destroyed along with the Syndicate in Xing."

They had gone to Xing. Well, that might be a reason to leave her in a Drachman prison instead of dragging her halfway across the continent. Sara had never made it easy to move her. "Well, whatever their reasons, they left me there."

"Did anyone question you?" Anastas asked.

"No. Not about Amestris anyway. The guards never asked anything, and no one tried to interrogate me. The rest of the prisoners didn't really care who I was. Many of them were political prisoners, not all violent offenders."

"But some of your injuries come from that time," Ruthe spoke up then. Clearly she had paid attention to her father and Kane's preliminary reports.

Sara nodded. "Yes, though they were the result of disciplinary measures on the prison's part. I… led a few revolts while I was there."

"A few?" her father blurted out.

"Seven or eight," she offered a more specific number, though his proud grin made her feel a little more sure of herself. "We got past the fence twice before they brought us down again, usually with sharpshooters. I got hit in the leg the second time," she waved at her left leg. "So they stuck me in Solitary Confinement a few times, and then they got tired of it all, so they tried to cripple me by breaking my leg." Again, she motioned to the left, where her knee was still a mess underneath sheets and bandages. "That's also when they finally got smart and branded me with that anti-alchemy circle. I got a private room in the special wing then too, with a really tiny yard. _Then_ they started questioning me again, as much for punishment as anything else I think. They didn't feel like they were in a hurry. Same questions. I didn't tell them anything."

Her mouth was running dry. Sara paused to drink from the water glass at her elbow. Franz looked concerned, but he didn't move from his spot.

"So, what happened next?" Tore prompted when she finished.

"They abandoned me." Sara still wished she had a full comprehension of all the things she had missed, locked away. "It was only much later that I got enough scraps of information to put together that it happened around the same time as the coup in Xing. So I suspect they shoveled me off to the labor camp when the Hashman Syndicate blew up. I wasn't any use to them, since they were all dead or captured or disbanded… but I wasn't really any use to the Drachmans then either. I think they always meant to use me as a hostage, but the timing never worked out. Well, until recently." Though it had definitely not turned out the way Yegor had anticipated, and she was grateful for that. "Anyway, they shipped me so far north I lost count of miles, until they dumped me in a forced labor camp with security even tighter than the prison in the highest, coldest, crappiest mountains I've ever seen. They'd never treated my leg really, except to keep it from getting infected, and I was effectively crippled at that point. I could hardly walk, and I couldn't do alchemy, so they put me to work braiding hundreds of lengths of rope. That's all I did, every day. They wouldn't even give me a knife; they precut the pieces. I worked in my cell, and they let me out twice a day for bathroom and fed me twice a day, like the Syndicate had. Based on the sounds and the lack of windows, I think my cell may have been underground." She had almost never seen natural light, even though she knew that there were parts of the labor camp that were outside.

"And they didn't ask you questions?" Anastas continued to prod.

"They had little interest in me at all, as long as I worked and kept my mouth shut." Sara had found that part ironic after years of on-and-off questioning and being a valuable hostage and prisoner. "They made it quite clear when I was left there that I shouldn't expect to be rescued. They told me 'Your usefulness is over. If you do not wish to die, you will work.' I decided it was best not to test their resolve."

"How long were you there?"

That was another question it had taken her a long time to find an answer to. "It was at least three years before I tried to break out."

"You tried to escape again?" Apparently she was really impressing Ruthe.

"I was going nuts, locked up all day, writing letters to people in my head just to keep myself sane. After almost three years, they started letting me outside a couple of times a week, just to hobble around and get a little fresh air. I was too weak and injured to be much of a threat, and they knew it. That didn't stop them from lining the place with guards though." Her reputation had preceded her. "I'd heard little snippets from guard conversations, fragments that let me put together things, like the fact that my husband was President of Amestris. So, in the spring—I'm pretty sure now that it was '87—I decided I had to make a break for it. The frost never went away in the ground up there, but that was when there was the least snow, and I'd been hoarding dry crumbs from the bread they fed me in my mattress, so I could store it and maybe take it with me. I knew how to hunt, so I thought it would be better to escape than to just stay and take it until I died in obscurity."

Tore looked like he had expected as much from his foster-sister. "How did they stop you that time?"

"They caught up with me," she admitted. It hadn't been that difficult. "I got out through the ventilation shaft in the tiny bathroom, and made it out into the yard on a dark, cloudy night, while it was pouring rain and sleet—you know, a typical balmly Drachman evening." The rain had been a lucky break, actually. It had hidden her longer than she would have made it otherwise. "I made it to the garage where the vehicles were parked, but then the alarms went off, and they locked everything down. They tracked me down with dogs, dragged me back in, and beat me until I blacked out again. When I woke up my knee was even more swollen and broken and unrecognizable than before, and they had tossed me into a solitary cell so deep in the prison I couldn't hear anything but dripping water and footsteps when someone came all the way to my cell."  
It had been a long, dark, lonely, painful, miserable existence. Sara shuddered again, and Franz twitched in his seat. Sara wondered how he would react to the real stories, the detailed ones, instead of this more efficient report summary. "They stopped letting me out then, completely. I had a bed pan to pee in, and they brought me cold water and soap to bathe with once a week. There was no way to tell time down there either, except for the bringing of my food. It was the only thing that happened consistently, and I had no way to mark it down or count the days. It was later, when Yegor pulled me out, that I found out how long it had been since I was kidnapped, and what was going on back here at home."

"Yegor—Valhov—what did he do with you?"

"He ordered me moved, and took me to his family's old estate, way up in some other remote part of the mountains. I was drugged unconscious again when they moved me, and when I woke up, I was on a real bed, in a nice room, with rugs and curtains and big windows for the first time in so long I wondered for a moment if I was dead. Of course, the pain told me otherwise. I looked around, and there wasn't anything I could use as a weapon, but there was a tub full of fresh hot water."

"So, you bathed." Tore actually looked a little amused, as well as sympathetic.

"I nearly scrubbed myself raw," she admitted with a soft chuckle. It had felt so good to scrub everything with real soap in warm water, to shampoo the ragged remains of her hair. "Then I put on the spare clothes they'd left on the bed and waited. He sent me food first in the room and then had guards escort me to his study…..

 _She was escorted down the hall of a very expensive building. Yes, this had to be one of the old Drachman family estates, somewhere up in the mountains, like most of them. She was led into a very well appointed study, with huge, dark wooden furniture, shelves of books, and a collection of heirlooms and knickknacks. There was a fireplace with a warm, roaring fire, and a chair, sitting in the middle of the floor. Behind the desk was the man she had seen in the prison, now dressed much more handsomely. Clearly he was wealthy. Perhaps there had been some kind of deal for her rescue after all? She didn't dare to hope. Given no commands, she sat, getting off of her swollen, aching knee. They hadn't given her so much as a crutch to limp down the hallway. For several long seconds, no one spoke. Finally, she took charge. ::To whom do I give my thanks for the meal and the bath?:: she asked, meeting the man's eyes with all the strength she could muster.  
_

 _::Someone who can help you… for the right price,:: the man replied enigmatically. He was older-her own age really-balding, and stout.  
_

 _A price. ::What do you want from me?::  
_

 _He steepled his hands, and smiled. ::Information.::  
_

 _So, this was just another form of interrogation. Still, if she played along, maybe she would be able to get information out of_ him _. Sara wished desperately that her negotiation skills weren't so rusty. ::What kind of information?::  
_

 _::A variety of things,:: he replied. ::You tell me what I want to know, and you don't have to go back to that hideous work camp, and your scenic, rat-infested cell.::  
_

 _Her mind screamed no, absolutely not. She hadn't broken for her tormentors, for the men who had tortured her, so why should she know? But part of here still wanted desperately to survive. It was possible, however slim, that what he was looking for would not automatically require betraying Amestris. ::There are worse things than rats,::_

 _Sara replied. ::I will not betray my country, but if your questions do not require that, I may answer them.::  
_

 _The guards scowled, but the man behind the desk laughed in delight. ::Such bite! Even after all this time. Usually by now they are groveling, or spilling everything they've ever known about everyone they ever met.:: He shrugged. ::It is interesting that you are not afraid.::  
_

 _::Should I be?::  
_

 _::That is up to you.:: He sat up straighter. ::If you answer my questions satisfactorily, you may be spared the suffering you have endured at the hands of the clods who have handled you. I do know who you are, and I do know that they have been idiots.::  
_

 _Meaning he knew that she wouldn't break easily. ::How do I know I can trust you?::  
_

 _::You may ask me questions first,:: he offered. ::If I can answer them, I will.::  
_

 _Sara knew what she wanted to ask about, but should she? Would she seem weak, or would she surprise him? He also hadn't said how many questions she could ask. Still, she decided to start safe. ::How do you know who I am?::  
_

 _::I know many things. You, I know because some of my former associates were behind the admittedly brilliant plan that captured you, thinking to use you as leverage against Amestris. That was, of course, before their unfortunate demise.::  
_

 _So he had been one of the Drachmans helping to fund the Hashman Syndicate. There had been rumors. Demise? That meant that at least some of the Syndicate, if not all of them, were dead or disbanded. Something she had suspected when she had been told she was useless. ::Why haven't I been ransomed? Why leave a pawn rotting for so long?:: She still didn't know exactly how long it had been. Weekends and holidays were not a thing where she had been.  
_

 _::Bad management on the part of others,:: he replied bluntly. ::Partially to make you see sense. You should know that they still believe you to be dead, in your country. No rescue attempts have been made. You are_ _dead_ _. A dead person is only of use in very specific circumstances, and we have seen fit to leave you in the grave.::  
_

 _::Then why speak to me now?::  
_

 _::I believe you might still be useful, and that civility will get me where brute force tactics failed. You are an intelligent woman, and clearly not one easily broken. I've read your prison record.::  
_

 _::And if I do refuse?::  
_

 _::Then I may need to get the information I need by other methods.:: He did not say what other methods, but Sara suspected they would involve other forms of torture again, or perhaps drugs.  
_

 _::What can you tell me about my family?::  
_

 _He blinked, startled by her sudden change of tac. Then he smiled again. ::Concern for their well-being above your own? Very well. I admit, I know little._ _My_ _operatives work mostly elsewhere at the moment, but I can give you a few details. They are all alive as far as I know, for certain this includes your more publically known relatives: the Fullmetal Alchemist and his wife, and brother. Your nephew the actor is apparently popular, even with the youth of Drachma, particularly the women.:: At that, he looked slightly annoyed and amused all together. ::Your children live, as does your husband, the President of the Military. Still single, too, if you'd like to know.::  
_

 _Franz really was President. She had heard that correctly. Sara could only imagine how they had talked him into it. It also explained one more reason, even if this man didn't think so, as to why she might still be useful in the future. This, she suspected, might be why they had never just killed her outright. Yet she couldn't dwell, or he would think she was done and might get impatient. ::What day is it?:: she blurted out next.  
_

 _::The first of October. The year is nineteen-eighty-seven.::  
_

 _Five years...Sara's head spun at the figure. It had felt like so much longer, especially up in this world of never-ending winter, whether the seasonal changes were variant and subtle. Five years dead. ::Is there any chance that if I cooperate you will let me go?::  
_

 _Now he looked disappointed. ::No. If you prove yourself valuable to me, you may remain here, under guard. Not a terrible prison at all I should think. You would be given more comforts, and something to do besides rot, or work your hands bloody. I would allow you access to my library. You could read, and write. I would have a physician tend you properly. That leg of yours is in terrible shape. But you would remain here. There is nowhere nearby to try to run to. My guards would be told to shoot on sight if you try to escape. And they never miss.:: There was nothing veiled about the threat in those words, despite his pleasant tone.  
_

 _Still a prison, but a gilded one. He knew what she craved: information, mental exercise, a chance to regain her physical health. No one else in that death trap would likely ever be lucky enough to receive such an offer. But the price… ::How long may I have to consider my decision?::  
_

 _::Two days, if that seems fair,:: he suggested as if it were of no consequence. ::Rest, eat, think. You may even explore the house and grounds, as long as you take Eli with you,:: he gestured to the larger guard, the one with several scars. ::You will find that the perimeter here is bound by a twelve-foot brick wall, topped with shards of stone and glass. Ostensibly, it was put in to keep out bears. There are many bears in this part of the mountains, and wolves. They have been known to kill the unwary. I recommend you do not attempt to leave.::  
_

 _Another not-so-veiled threat. Sara nodded. ::Thank you.:: She responded to his brief wave of dismissal by standing, and following her guard out of the room._

"So, he made you an offer," Anastas looked at his notes, then met her eyes with a hard, cool stare. "Did you accept?"

"I agreed to listen to his questions," Sara replied specifically. This was where her own ability to judge objectively seemed a scattered mess. "I did not promise him answers. The first thing he did was ask me about the Hashman Syndicate. I couldn't tell him anything past when they dumped me, but he did confirm they were no longer a threat." She smiled briefly at Franz. It had been his command.

"Then he started asking questions about Amestris' future plans in regards to Drachma, and political dealings with the current administration. I told him everything I could that was in the publically accessible documents regarding the treaty, since none of that was secret. He seemed to know all of it, which makes sense now that I know he used to be an Ambassador." At least she had proven herself to him as someone reasonably honest. "I told him that since I just trained alchemists, and Franz was only an aide in the President's office before I "died" I couldn't help him with anything more recent."

"That circle of questioning went on for months, and I strung him out as long as possible with as much useless public information as I could drag out of my memories. I was getting three meals a day, hot baths, and a good bed. He even brought in a physician to treat my injuries that were infected and treat my vitamin deficiencies. I had crutches, so I could exercise. I figured if I could use him while I recovered, I might still have a shot at getting the hell out of there. I also wanted to see if I could find out what he was up to, and why he wanted the information he was asking for."

"What did you discover?"

"Not a whole lot. The third subject we went around about for weeks was Drachman alchemists. So I told him everything I knew there that wasn't classified information. It was no secret how often our family has been involved in dealing with Drachman alchemists on the official level. I did figure out he did not know about the times we've been there less officially. _We_ being Amestrian alchemists in general." More specifically, her family… repeatedly. "So I talked about what we knew from the Drachman War, and from when Mom and Aunt Elicia and Riza Hawkeye were kidnapped."

"I assumed Yegor liked what he was hearing, because I was still being treated well. Not that I thought for a moment that would continue if I stopped pretending to be cooperative. Then he started leaving every so often on business, which was all I could ever get out of the butler about where he was. Then, when he came back, he started asking me what I knew about Drachman politics. Given how little I do know, I didn't feel like I needed to lie to him there. Most of what I knew I had picked up in the prison system anyway. I didn't tell him everything, but I gave him enough to satisfy him that I didn't know everything. Still, things changed. In March of '88 he started to be more preoccupied. The newspapers that used to be available for me to read vanished." She paused, and drank the last bit of water in her glass to give herself a moment to collect herself and her thoughts.

She appreciated that they waited patiently.

"That's when he started asking me the hard questions."

 _One afternoon, during their usual "interrogation" time, the axe fell. ::Tell me what Amestrian policy is regarding a government insurgency in a foreign bordering nation.::  
_

 _::Why?::_

 _::Because I asked it of you.::_

 _This was what he had been working around towards. All this time. Sara had to bite her tongue not to lash out and undo everything she had worked for months to establish. He believed her honest. Now, she had to see how well she could still play the game. ::It's complicated,:: she began. ::It depends a lot on the individual situation. Amestris has to have a reason to get involved.:: To be fair, that reason was sometimes 'you're being a jerk' or historically, 'we don't like you' but it was still technically true. They had gone into Aerugo because the deposed government had been less violent to the people and less corrupt however slightly. In the end, they had helped restructure the entire government into something more beneficial.  
_

 _::What kind of reasons?:: Yegor pushed.  
_

 _::They would need to feel directly threatened,:: she replied without hesitation._

 _::In what ways?:: he pressed. ::Why did Amestris go into Aerugo when their government was deposed?::  
_

 _::They threatened our borders.:: A half-truth at best. They_ had _been concerned about border security. ::Attempts to negotiate continued peace went poorly and they refused to let Amestrian citizens return home from Havah.:: There, that was true. ::They held internationals from several countries against their will, you might recall.:: Surely Drachmans vacationed in Havah too?  
_

 _Yegor nodded. ::So direct threat to Amestrian citizens.::  
_

 _Sara nodded._

 _::What is their policy on hostage negotiations?::_

 _Shit. ::Amestris does not negotiate with terrorists.::  
_

 _::I mean foreign governments,:: He clarified, a little sharply.  
_

 _::If you are asking if Amestris would negotiate to get me back. I do not believe they would. One woman is not worth the price you would ask.::  
_

 _His smile was genuine, but not pleasant. ::Now you see. But I am not asking about your government alone. What would_ _your husband_ _agree to in order to get you back?::_

 _Franz. Her heart plummeted. In a reverse situation, what would she have done to get her husband back? Would she have even believed he was alive if she had watched him be buried in the cemetery? She could not know his heart anymore, or even claim to. Not after several years. ::He would not risk Amestris for one woman. No matter who that might be.:: It might get her killed, but she would not risk them for her. ::Besides, I am dead, remember?::_

 _That was not the answer he wanted, apparently. The smile faded. ::Tell me how to keep Amestris from meddling in Drachman affairs.::  
_

 _::Last I checked, they haven't been and you have a very nice trade agreement off of which Drachma is making a good profit,:: Sara pointed out. She had seen the figures in the last paper, actually. An idea started to form in her head. Maybe, maybe, this could work. She looked exasperated. ::If you don't tell me what you're looking for, specifically, I really can't help you, Yegor. From what you're inferring, there is likely to be another movement to change or overthrow the government in Drachma, and you're part of it. I have no love for the Drachman government either way, so you'll forgive me if I don't show more excitement. Am I your prisoner or your consultant? If you want my advice, than stop acting like we're having a friendly little interrogation and trust me a little. Has anything I've said to you in the past few months been proven untrue?::  
_

 _He was quiet for several very long seconds. ::No,:: he finally admitted thoughtfully. ::I suppose not. Besides, you're not going anywhere, are you? Fine. Yes, I am part of a group devoted to purging the Drachman government of certain, subversive forces. Despite certain setbacks, our time will come. When it does, I want to see it occur with minimal bloodshed. In order to do that, I need to be certain that we can do so without inciting a war that extends outside our borders.::_

 _She found it interesting that he did not include inside Drachman borders. Clearly, he was anticipating some conflict, if not an outright civil war. ::You want to minimize body counts.::  
_

 _:: Drachman changes in government have never been bloodless,:: he pointed out. ::But left as internal affairs, they have always happened quickly. The faster a new government solidifies its hold, the better it is for everyone. Also the more likely it is that, if Amestris accepts us without question, the existing peace will remain._ _If_ _you tell me how to keep Amestris out of Drachma.::_

 _Sara did not believe for a moment that his motives were as altruistic as they sounded. However, keeping Amestris out of Drachma would be better for everyone in her country. The question was, how much could she say without stepping over the line into state secrets?  
_

When Sara finished summarizing the subtle song-and-dance around his questions she had engaged in for weeks, she fell quiet for some time. For a couple of minutes, her questioners simply sat, madly scribbling as she waited for them to catch up.

Finally, Anastas continued the questioning. "Did you learn anything else?"

"I learned how involved he was in something, and that he was fairly high up in the chain of command. Given how deep the anti-government sentiment was running in Drachma, from what he was saying, I wasn't too surprised. I was beginning to be sure I would never escape, and that he intended to use me as a hostage, so I probably wasn't going to survive, but it occurred to me that if I could take _him_ out, I might manage to save a lot of people a lot of trouble and heartache."

"So what did you do?"

"I tried to poison him. Unfortunately, without alchemy, all I could use was some local plants that I recognized. He invited me to dinner, when he wasn't paying attention I managed to spike his drink with a bit of a compound that should have killed him. Without the ability to really make it potent though, it just made him very sick. I tried to flee, but they caught me, and that was that. He sent hunting dogs after me, and they shot me, again. Then everything was a blur, except for moments when I would start to come out of it, and they'd drug me again, or torture me. Not for information, just because he wanted revenge for the pain I'd caused him. I was locked up in that cell, with no idea where I was, and then it's all a horrible blur until the plane. By my estimate, I was there for almost a year-and-a-half."

There, that was it. At least, the relevant parts. She stopped and waited for any further questions, and while they had a few, none of them were as complicated or heart-wrenching as what she had just related. When it was over, the committee left, leaving Sara alone with just Franz and her father. Her husband looked like he wanted to go on a rampage in Drachma and destroy anyone who ever hurt her. Her father, however, just looked proud as he sat down on the side of the bed opposite Franz.

"So, what do you think?" Sara finally asked them both. "Did I betray my country to stay alive?"

"No," her father emphatically shook his head. "You said it yourself, you never thought you'd get out of there. Everything you did was to try and protect Amestris. I certainly didn't hear you repeat any classified information in here today. Did you?" he glanced up at Franz.

Franz looked stricken and a little ill himself. "Of course not," he stated flatly, as if daring anyone to argue. "I always knew you were incredible, Belle, but putting all this together… I'm amazed."

"All I did was keep living," Sara objected. Day to day, mouthful to mouthful, moment to moment and taking advantage where she could. "Nothing I tried worked. It just caused me pain, and suffering, and dragged out my ordeal."

"Until we could save you," her father interrupted her. "Which means you stalled long enough. It's too bad you didn't take Valhov out, but someone else took care of that on your behalf, and you gave him the opportunity." He glanced at Franz.

Sara couldn't find it in herself to be upset that Franz had killed Yegor, or his subordinates. They were cruel people, whatever ideology they were espousing. "They deserved what they got. I just hope the rest of Amestris decides I didn't sell out." She knew that her reported death had brought her to near-legend hero status in her absence, but that didn't mean people would still feel that way when she showed up alive and broken and used as a Drachman political ploy.

"They wouldn't dare," her father assured her, patting the blankets beside her. "Well, some of them might, but they won't be the majority, and the rest will shut them up and shut them down in time. What you did was brave, and more than most people could do in that situation. Enough of this depressing line of thought though. How about some ice cream?"

Now there were words she hadn't heard in years. Sara smiled. "Will Doctor Baby Brother let me?"

"He told me before we had this meeting that it was okay. He suggested you'd probably need it when they were done with you."

Now that sounded like her brother. Sara chuckled. "He was right."

* * *

Anika Marskaya had taken to spending most of her free time not spent in the city, high on the balcony she and Ted Elric had discovered made such a great surveillance spot, where she could see most of the small city, and more importantly the majority of the Zinovek soldiers beyond.

It was a warm day for winter, with an unusually clear sky, and temperatures that were crawling up towards freezing. Bundled in her usual favorite winter wear, and holding a thermos of hot tea with lemon, she leaned against the railing, her rifle beside her at the ready out of habit. Outside of the unexpected skirmishes at her family's home, it had been years since she had used it for more than target practice. Though she had supplemented dinner on the way here with a couple of snow hares. Her family had never hunted for sport, only for meat, and they had always used the fur and hides and anything else they could, out of respect for the wildlife. As she had grown to want to work with animals, she had hunted less, but kept in practice because even in a zoo, there was the possibility of an animal getting loose, and if they could not contain it and return it to its enclosure, that security measure might save lives.

Anika played it cool, but part of her was uncomfortable with the fact that, like a couple of weeks ago, when this turned violent, she would be wounding people, and probably taking lives. Though she was good enough, she preferred to shoot to injure in this case if possible. The necessity she understood. That did not mean she liked it.

It reassured her, however, that her unexpected compatriots were not at all the murders old "Amestrian Alchemist" tales would have had her believe. Not that her family had ever entirely believed them. Her father had spoken of them as worthy adversaries in combat, but never in his stories were they monsters or cruel and inhuman. Running into Ted Elric and his team had been unexpected and bizarre, but she was glad she had made her decision to come with them, even though it had meant an awkward radio conversation with her brothers a couple of days ago. She was grateful they hadn't been foolish enough to try and make demands. That had never worked, and worried as they were, they agreed she had made a reasonable decision. She was far more likely to find information on their father from here, and do more good in protecting Mihalov and the exiled government. Her brothers could handle the estate, and she was reassured by the fact that, since none of them had chosen to go into the military, none of them were in any more imminent danger than she; and really now it was far less.

The explosion that shook her out of her reverie did not come from inside the walls, but it still made her jump. Looking up, she saw smoke coming from outside the walls. She grabbed the binoculars she almost didn't need and stared through the smoke and haze. Was it fire? Had they blown up the wall?

Water. As the smoke cleared, she saw water jetting up out of the ground, and she felt a moment of dread. They weren't going to attack directly just yet, apparently. No, instead, they had blown up a building that was not inside the walls… because it was the primary building of the water treatment plant for the city of Karmatsk, and several nearby smaller villages. She knew that most everyone in the city had been storing bottles, gallons, and whatever other containers of water they could for days, some of them for weeks. It wasn't unusual anyway, given you never knew when the pipes might freeze for days at a time. Though they had been storing more than usual, ever since the soldiers arrived. Damaging the local water supply was a military tactic going back centuries. The town had a few old wells, but it would only be a matter of time before they had to ration water, or get desperate. Not just the people currently on the Gurina estate, but all of the innocent population of Karmatsk.

That was clearly the idea.


	21. Chapter 21

**January 15** **th** **, 1990**

"My wife is never going to let me live this one down," Cal grumbled as he sat in the medical tent while the medic worked on stitching up the slice Cal had received in his left forearm from some flying debris. He hadn't even been shot directly—which was a first actually.

"Not the sympathetic sort?" the medic asked with an apologetic smile. At least his work was quick and neat.

"To date, I have never managed to come home from a combat tour without being shot or blown up," Cal informed him. So this time was really no different. "Though this is the first time I've been the casualty of flying debris. She'll tease me about this one for years. It's almost not worth mentioning, except she'll find out somehow. She always does." He was almost looking forward to it. She would roll her eyes, and maybe shout, then kiss him, and laugh a little, and make him something delicious to eat, and that would be that except when she was annoyed with him in the future. He didn't mind. She was cute when she was annoyed.

"Well, this one probably won't scar." The medic finished up with the stitches and started bandaging the arm.

"I've got enough of those." Cal hadn't even been worried about that.

Outside, above the shouting and shooting, he heard something else, something odd, that seemed to be growing louder.

The medic frowned. "What's that noise?"

"I don't know." Cal stood up, moving quickly towards the door, even as he dragged his now-bloodstained uniform jacket back on, "But I'm about to find out."

Outside, he only had to take two steps and look up to find what he was looking for. His heart dropped somewhere down into his stomach as he looked up at a shiny metal bird, circling above them. It was a plane, and it was the wrong color to be the one he remembered from Xing. Besides which, that one he knew was back in Central.

A lot of people were looking, but only in glimpses, as the battle in front of them was taking up most of their attention. It had progressed to fighting across the gap, though no one had dared yet to set foot on the bridge. The land on both sides of the ravine was a pock-marked wasteland of devastation, especially now that the tanks had moved forward a bit.

Cal didn't like it. He doubted that plane was just here for surveillance. The problem was, for the moment, it was so high there was nothing to be done about.

* * *

Charlie wiped the sweat off his brow and continued working, hanging half-out of the depths of a very dented, very semi-functional truck on which was mounted what was basically an over-large projectile flame thrower. The flame thrower worked perfectly, but it wasn't doing anyone any good while it was sitting dead behind a wall of dirt. That was why he was out here, repairing things in the midst of chaos. Which was far better than having to shoot at people, but that didn't mean he liked being shot _at._

Finally, he got the last piece of metal dislodged, the last dent banged back out enough to not get in the way, and he straightened up. "Try it now!" he shouted over the noise around them.

The corporal in the driver's seat turned the key, and the ignition revved. For a moment, Charlie was sure it was going to die again, despite his efforts, but it didn't, kicking over and starting without any more fuss. It wasn't purring, but he had definitely heard worse. Out here, no one was complaining.

The truck pulled away, and he was just wiping the grease off his hands, when someone ran around the closest barricade shouting "the tank is stuck! Who can work on the tank?"

"I can!" Charlie said without thinking. He had worked on them plenty at Briggs. "Where is it?"

"This way." The other soldier waved and turned without waiting for him.

Charlie was grateful he kept most of his tools on his belt, as he ran after the man it was clear he would have been left behind in moments otherwise. He blanched a little as he followed him between two rows of vehicles and out into the backend of the battlefield. Ducking low, he followed him until they reached a tank that was firing, mostly through the smaller gun in the front, but not moving. "What's wrong?" Charlie shouted over the noise, trying to ignore the gunfire going on all around them. Most weapons weren't aimed there way or in range, not yet.

"It looks like a problem with the power unit," the soldier with his head out the hatch shouted back.

Charlie hurried around the side of the tank, removing the metal plate covering the access hatch to the power unit behind the radiator. Unfortunately, the problem was not immediately visible. Cursing—not that anybody could hear him—Charlie got to work.

* * *

Today was one of those days where Roy really enjoyed being the Firestorm Alchemist. Four generations of flame alchemy ran in his family—counting Great-Grandpa Hawkeye—and it was truly most useful against two things: large scale wildfires, and military applications. Here, where everything was frozen and wet, he didn't have to worry about setting all of the surrounding countryside on fire, but he was having great success sending Drachman equipment—he was still focused on large scale weapons and structures instead of people—up in flames.

The Drachmans were running out of heavy-hitting war machines, and as much as they kept rolling them out, Roy could hit them from nearly as far away as the tanks could fire, as long as the air was as crisp and dry as it had been for the past two days. His ignition gloves were dry, and that meant mayhem behind Drachman lines.

Standing between two tanks, Roy scanned the enemy line just on the other side of the bridge, looking for his next target, though his eyes kept straying to the metal bird in the sky. He knew what it was, and it made him nervous. If it had been just a bit lower, he would have tried to take it out, but even his alchemy couldn't reach that altitude.  
The one thing he had purposefully not torched yet—mostly because they were sure the Drachmans had already rigged it with bombs—was the bridge. If it went, no one was getting across easily, even though the alchemists could make their own bridges using alchemy in relatively short order. It was difficult enough in a combat situation they didn't want to risk it if they didn't have to.

The whining hum above was getting louder. Roy wished it would stop. The plane had been circling for several minutes, and it made him nervous. Very few things worried him at this point in his life.

He blocked a barrage of bullets with a wall of earth, then ducked and moved to his left, closer to one of the tanks, which appeared to be having some technical trouble. There was a mechanic hanging halfway out of an open panel in the side.

The whining took on a sudden, higher pitch, and began to grow increasingly louder at an alarming rate. Roy jumped back right entirely on instinct. As he glanced up, he saw the plane plowing downward through the air towards him, and then everything exploded in an inferno of heat, pain, and dirt.

* * *

The world was burning. Cal's stomach churned and for a moment, he thought his heart had stopped as the tank exploded apart like it was only so much loose debris. The plan continued its upsweep and rose quickly. For a moment, he held his breath, waiting for it to come around again, but to his amazement, the plane took off quickly north. Whatever it had dropped had done the damage of a dozen tank rounds—no more—in seconds, and all around where it had landed, everything was burning, twisted, people were screaming.

He had to put out the fire. Cal was walking, then running, towards the wreckage, grateful he had kept his gloves on. Slamming them to the ground so hard he jarred his injured arm, he transmuted.

From the ravine a waterfall erupted in reverse, raining down on both sides in a heavy deluge, putting out fires and cooling metal so hot that all around them it hissed and spat steam. The shouts continued, though many changed to moans or went quiet. Some turned to shouts of discovery or calls for assistance with the injured.  
Breathing heavily, Cal stood, feeling over-warm in his coat.

"General!" A lieutenant ran up to him, looking pale and a little afraid. "That was… impressive, Sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Do we have any report on damages?" It was too soon, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to ask.

"Lots of wounded, Sir. No count on casualties yet, but they seem to have stopped shooting for the moment."

It was true. The sound of gunfire had stopped almost entirely. Either they assumed the Amestrians were going to give up, or they wanted to see how much damage their plane had done before making their next move. Cal made a decision. "Find your commanding officer, and anyone else you see of rank, Lieutenant Parks. Tell them if the Drachmans aren't shooting, than neither are we. Focus all attention on rescuing and caring for the injured, and taking care of the dead." Even a brief lull would be more than he could hope for. "But keep arms trained on them, just in case."

That got a snapped salute and a "Yes, Sir!" Then the young man was off again at a run.

"Whitewater!"

Cal's first thought was that it was odd to hear a non-alchemist shout his title, but that ended when he saw who it was.

Dare Closson ran up, panting heavily, his face flushed red in the cheeks, but otherwise white as a sheet. He did not look official, or businesslike.

"What's wrong?"

"The tank they blew up," Dare gasped out. "Hit… Mustang—"

"Shit."

"—and… Charlie. Charlie was repairing it when it went."

It was like a horrible flashback to when Charlie was twelve years old, except it wasn't. It was real, and for several moments, Cal could not breath. My son… no, not my son.

"Take me there." He did not ask if he was dead. If either of them was dead. He just moved, and Dare did not argue, leading him quickly as they trotted through the chaos and people crossing every which way.

Cal saw no sign of the Firestorm Alchemist as they reached the tank, and he hoped that meant they had taken him to the medical tent for treatment, but any thoughts of his friend's son vanished as he saw what they were pulling out of the wreckage.

The tank driver was clearly dead. The gunner, mangled and critical but miraculously breathing. Medics were quickly and carefully moving him to a stretcher.

Charlie.

His son lay on the ground, barely free of the twisted wreckage, and only because of the two men pulling him out. Dozens of cuts and scrapes bled from where flying shrapnel had scored him, but what drew his eyes were the gruesome, mangled, twisted remains of his son's right hand. Or rather, what had been his hand.

Cal felt momentarily light headed. Around him, people were rushing. A medic was there, beside them, checking for vitals.

"He's alive," he heard as if through glass, or at great distance. "Tie that off. Get him on the stretcher… that's it. Let's go. Hurry."

He barely saw them go. A cold fury had started to crawl up through the depths of his soul. Cal was not done here. Not by a longshot. He had one more transmutation. Rarely did he turn his water to ice transmutations. They were not his specialty, but he needed no finesse for what came next. He slammed his gloves together and once more he transmuted. The water surged upward once more, violent and raging like rapids in the air, writhing like a living thing. With a violent twist, Cal directed the spewing water across the ravine, flooding the valley on the opposite side, and soaking hundreds of men. An urge to destroy his enemies bubbling within him, he breathed out, and as he did, he let the ice extend as well, until it ripped across the grass, flash-freezing everything wet on the Drachman side, including their people.

He could not hear the shouts across the ravine, drowned out as they were by those on his own side and distance, but as the water collapsed back into the ravine, Cal's blind rage began to ebb. His heart urged him to run back to the infirmary, but as the General, he couldn't do that until he had a full assessment of the situation.

That was what logic and training told him. His heart had other plans. "I'll be in the medical tent," he barked at the first of the three Colonels to find him as he spun on his heel. "I want all reports and news brought to me there. Clean up this mess."

His feet found the tent without any conscious memory of the walk there.

A hand in his chest stopped him. It was the medical officer who had treated him earlier—Rollins, he remembered. "I'm sorry, General."

"Excuse me, Lieutenant Colonel?" Cal stared at him, resisting the urge to bat the man's hand away.

To his credit, the younger man did not flinch, or move. "You're going to have to wait in the general area…. General."

"Why is that?"

"They're operating."

Cal blanched. No, he couldn't barge in on surgery, but his _son_ was one of those patients. "How bad is it?"

Rollins looked apologetic. "There's not enough left of the hand to save. He's lucky that's the worst of his injuries. I've got Major Grace working on him."

That was reassuring and worrying at the same time. Crys Grace, the Regeneration Alchemist, was an excellent healer, but that just meant his son was a critical case if they had her on him with so many injured. Cal channeled his fears into fury, then bottled it. He took a deep breath. "Fine. Report to me as soon as he's out of surgery. How's Firestorm?"

"Badly burned, but otherwise whole." Rollins shook his head. "He's conscious if you want to speak with him."

Cal nodded. At least when he made his report home, he'd be able to tell his friends that their sons were alive, even if he had no idea what he was going to say about his own. He followed Rollins to a bed where Roy Mustang lay under a sheet, though Cal could see that Roy's entire left side seemed to be swathed in bulky bandages. There was also a bandage around his forehead. He looked groggy, but he was awake. "How're you feeling?" Cal asked.

Roy tried to grin, but it turned into a grimace. "Next time I see one of those planes it's going up in a fireball if I have anything to say about it."

"I'll hold you to that, but that's not what I asked."

"I've had worse," Roy replied. "Crys already stopped the bleeding. She said she'd work on the burns more later. There probably won't be much—if any—scarring when she's done with me. Not that Trisha would mind."

That was probably true, especially with his face mostly unscathed. "I'll be sure to note that in my report," Cal quipped. "You're damned lucky. Almost everyone within the immediate blast radius of that explosion is dead."

Roy didn't look surprised. "I dodged."

"Very effectively."

"Doesn't feel like it."

"Anytime you can walk away from an explosion with all your body parts is a good day."

"I'll remember that." Roy winced again, despite the flippant tone. "Just please… don't tell them anything that will worry Trisha."

"Then what am I supposed to tell them?" Cal asked curiously. He wasn't about to lie on a report about one of his alchemist's injuries.

"The truth," Roy replied grimly. "I'm hurt, I'll be fine, and back on duty in a few days. I don't want to go home, Whitewater. I can't go home. If they've got explosives like that, and they're dropping them from the sky, you're going to need me. After an attack like that, there's no way they're going to pull us out of Drachma until we've completed our original mission objective and you know it."

He was right, and he was furious. Cal could see the sense the same cold fury behind those words he had felt earlier. Alchemists knew better than most the amount of destructive power that could be wrought by one man, and how much was too much. There was a heavy responsibility to the powers of alchemy. There were many ways to use it against someone without killing them. This new technology, this explosive bomb, had served only one purpose—efficient destruction of everything around it. "As long as the medical corps clears you for duty, I won't send you home. Though it's on you if Trisha wants to kill either one of us for it later."

Roy managed an actual smile. "Understood, Sir."

When Cal left him, they were still working on Charlie. Knowing it would be useless to demand to see his son, he focused on the reports that were starting to come in from across the battlefield regarding the actual damage done, repairs needed, casualties, and losses. He returned to command, grateful that—for the moment at least—even Drachma seemed to have ceased fire to lick their wounds, and chip their men out of the ice.

* * *

To call the news bad, or problematic, would have been a gross understatement. Franz combed through the notes that had been taken from Fischer's report. Three tanks destroyed, a dozen vehicles, twenty-four casualties, and over a hundred more wounded, just in today's violent display. A plane, with a bomb; who knew how many they had of either, but it changed the entire face of the situation.

Franz had shut himself away in the back, private portion of his office to look over the information, and give himself time to think things through without the constant bustle that was his offices these days, far worse than ever before.

His son-in-law was lucky to be alive, and Cal's son was severely wounded and would be sent home as soon as he was able; as soon as they could spare someone to bring the wounded back down to the trains. Franz had already called in an immediate order to send a small train north to retrieve them, and to send fresh soldiers. He doubted—this once—that Drachma would try to stop them, since they would assume the train was meant for retreat if it were set up for passengers.

By all metrics, pulling out was the smart thing to do, but doing so would be abandoning their people and their allies in Karmatsk to the insanity of this civil war. Franz could not yet bring himself to make that decision. He had worked most of his career in these offices, and learned from a wide variety of skilled and capable Presidents before him how to handle almost anything. He had successfully executed an end to the coup in Xing and the restoration of the imperial family and peace.

Nothing he had done so far here had done anything to successfully end this war or free his people, not even personally—and secretly—taking out the head of the coup and recovering his very public hostage out of an impossible situation. An action that should have thrown the Zinoveks into chaos, should have made their coup fall apart. It still might, but for now all it had done was escalate matters. The name Genn Savahin had been in reports, but their intelligence had placed him as an administrative assistant—one of several—who had stepped in with Valhov. That he had slipped into a position of power so immediately implied politics within politics; and multiple factions within the Zinovek party. Valhov may have been little more than an unwitting scapegoat; a cover leader for those working under him. He may have had no idea, or he may have thought he could outmaneuver them until things had not gone as planned, and he had gotten desperate. His ploy with Sara had been meant to get Amestris out of Drachma. Instead, everything was thrown into chaos.

Reports from Karmatsk were little better. The water supply was now limited even more than the food supply within the city. Loyalist soldiers were coming to support the exiled government, but they would take time to arrive, and the Zinoveks might not wait that long before attacking the city directly. Though the move to cut the water implied they might be willing to continue that waiting game. He could not count on that.

The mission had not changed, not officially: make it to Karmatsk, rescue the Amestrians and Cretans trapped there, and neutralize any threats on the way in or out that got in the way of that mission. Doing so would, by nature, offer some support to Mihalov and the government there, and give them time. They could do no more than that, and Amestris had taken the brunt of the job as a way to avoid turning this into a continental war.

If it escalated, that was exactly what it would become. Even with a divided Drachma, Amestris could not afford to get completely involved in restoring the government. They did not have the resources or raw military power, not anymore. They had rebuilt after the Drachman War, but not to the size it had been. With the relative peace in the world, it hadn't been needed.

Until now, possibly.

It was a mess, and he was at a loss for any better solution than the current plan of action, even though he was having serious doubts about that as well.

 _If only you_ — he cut himself off. Years of talking to Sara in his head were heard to break. She was still in a hospital bed just a few blocks away. He could ask her himself what she thought… except that he couldn't. Not yet. Sara already thought that she had caused a lot of the problems they were having with Drachma, and it would take time for her to realize differently, despite his reassurances. Dumping all of this on her was the last thing she needed right now. She needed peace and time to recover and re-acclimate.  
He wanted to be there with her, not here dealing with the mess that Valhov and his party had made of Drachma. If they hadn't messed with the Embassies, he wouldn't ever have had to get involved. They could have waited it out like almost every other governmental mess Drachma had dealt with in his lifetime.

Franz was tempted to ignore the knock on the door, but he knew that he didn't have that option. "Come in," he barked, reaching for his coffee mug only to find it empty.

Tore Closson entered the room, and shut the door quickly behind him. "Geez, it's a shit storm out there. No wonder you've got the door locked."

That was colorful, and still putting it mildly. "Did you need something, Shock?"

"Just delivering a pile of messages for you to reply to." Tore dropped several pieces of paper on Franz's desk. "Your daughter-in-law wants to know if you will ever be home for dinner again, so she can figure out what she needs to make for dinner. Fullmetal called to let you know they'll be having a counselor in to finish Sara's psych evaluation this afternoon and then updating her date of release from the hospital, though she made him promise to add in the message that she'll be fine if you can make it or not, since it'll be easier than her debriefing," he smiled a little at that, "which is probably true. The next one is from Charisa."

"What does your wife want?" That one surprised him.

Tore looked more uncomfortable. "To give you a heads-up that the Assembly will be calling for your testimony on the rescue, to explain yourself and justify your actions in the light of current events in Drachma. Though they will want your report and plan for proceeding before that, so it may be a couple of days before they ask for the first."  
There it was. So, they weren't going to wait until the crisis was over. Well, Franz couldn't blame them. He had up and run off into a foreign country on a top-secret aircraft without anyone's notice or approval to rescue a woman they had no real identification for other than a crazy and unlikely claim. It looked, from the outside, unhinged and reckless. Franz could not admit that it had not been, in large part, an emotional response. Now, even he found himself questioning if he had made the right call. Not in rescuing his wife—never that—but the part that he had not told them, and the part that only a very small handful of people knew; that he was the one who had killed Valhov.

Tore was still standing there, waiting patiently for a reply, with a sympathetic expression.

Franz sighed. "Thank Charisa for the heads up. It will give me time to finish putting my responses together. I'll have the report ready in an hour if they'll be ready for me then." He flipped through the pages. "Tell Fullmetal to let Sara know I won't be able to make it and I'm taking her at her word she'll be okay." He regretted that decision, but if he let everything fall apart now, she would never forgive him for that either. "I'll be over later tonight. Tell Krista not to include me in the food planning until Sara comes home from the hospital."

Tore jotted down all of the responses, though he looked concerned. "You're not planning to go home until then?"

"Not for meals." Franz shrugged. He had run back a couple of times for clean clothes, or a shower somewhere other than the gymnasium. Sleep had been hit and miss, mostly here at his desk, for weeks already, but he didn't think anyone else was aware of how little he had been home except Krista and James. "I've just been ordering food brought up from the mess."

Tore grimaced but he didn't object. "Do you want me to call Alyse and Shelby?" he asked when they were done. He knew, of course, what had been in Cal's report regarding injuries—and the note for Tore and Charisa that Dare was fine, and an exemplary young officer.

That was a call Franz was not looking forward to making. "I'll do it myself." He could make time, and it would be better coming from family. Not that Tore wasn't, but Franz felt that having ordered the mission in the first place, it was his responsibility.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." He squinted through his glasses at Tore. "Is there something you want to say?"

Tore sighed. "I don't know if you've looked in a mirror lately—literal or proverbial—but you look like shit. You were hardly eating and sleeping before this began, and since you got back you've done even less. You, of all people, know how long an officer can push like that before it goes too far."

"You nag better than my wife," Franz quipped, feeling irritated. "I'll _rest_ when we get this under control."

"What? The Drachmans we can't control anyway?"

"I'm not that stupid." Franz rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes, where a headache had been growing all day. "Just deliver my messages, Closson. Then let me know when the Assembly wants me."

"Yes, Sir." Tore nodded, accepting the dismissal, and he left.

When he was gone, Franz reached reluctantly for the phone. He might as well get the most unpleasant part over first.

* * *

For a Monday, it had been particularly enjoyable so far. Shelby had taken the children to the park, bundled warm and in the stroller they had received over the holidays that could hold up to four children, so it worked perfectly for her three, and the large bag of supplies it took to take three little children anywhere. They had played for much of the morning before they got cold and tired, and had come home for a nap before lunch. Afterwards, her mother-in-law had arrived to watch them while she went to both of her current college courses, which were back-to-back three days a week. It was only the general education math and composition courses, but there was something absolutely delightful about being able to take a course that required her to use her brain again. They weren't difficult either, not yet. The thrill of academic discourse was something she had almost forgotten, and while she wasn't entirely certain what she would do with it yet, she had time to figure it out and for now, she was just determined to enjoy and appreciate moving forwards towards the future. She thought she might like to focus on library work.

Today's lectures had been particularly engaging, and she was looking forward to working on the homework. Stopping on the way home for a hot spiced tea latte, she sipped the vibrant flavor and pondered the evening. Dinner had been prepared during lunch, and her mother-in-law had promised to put it on the stove, so it should be nearly ready by the time she got home. Which was good, as she was looking forward to the hot chicken and mushroom soup full of a variety of winter vegetables. The recipe she had found looked delicious, and healthy, and she was dying to see if it tasted as good as it had smelled even in the prep stage.

Moving back to Central had been the best decision they could have made, though she spent a good portion of every day lately worrying about Charlie. There were no letters home from Drachma, only the kindness of her father-in-law including addendums in his reports that came unofficially. She was sure he would have written if physical mail were moving between them. Exhausting as basic training had been, he had seemed happier to be home as well; more engaged with the children and her. He smiled again.

She couldn't wait for him to get home.

The lights from the house left bright golden rectangles against the snow-frosted lawn as she went up the walk to the front door and entered the house. "I'm home!" she announced as she dropped her backpack by the door, and started taking off her coat. The delicious waft of soup told her that dinner was definitely well under way.

"Mommy!" Abigail streaked out of the living room and down the short entry hall, wrapping herself tightly around her legs. Shelby was grateful that her oldest had not made a fuss about her mother being gone multiple hours a day, several days a week. Classes, and working the few hours she worked her part-time job were only possible, took her away for the first time in quite a while. Of course, Abigail had been watched by her Grandma Alyse when she was an infant too, before they moved, so that helped.

Shelby scooped Abigail up off the ground into a big hug. "There's my big girl! Did you help Grandma watch Cam and Summer?"

Abigail nodded. "Yuh huh!"

"Where is everyone?"

"Upstawrs," she replied. "Cammy's stinky."

Naturally. "Well, then let's go find them." Shelby went upstairs, still carrying Abigail, and found her mother-in-law finishing up changing Cameron. Summer was in her basinet, cooing. "Everyone seems happy," she commented, smiling as she watched.

"They've been good as gold," Alyse assured her as she pulled up Cameron's pants again. "Summer took a full bottle just about half an hour ago, so you won't need to feed her again for a bit."

That was another blessing, much as Shelby hadn't been sure how it would go, but Summer was okay taking pumped milk from a bottle as much as she was happy to nurse. "Wonderful."

Alyse picked up Cameron. "Dinner should be ready any minute. Are we ready to eat?" she asked, looking at Abigail, who gave an enthusiastic giggle and scrambled down out of Shelby's arms so she could pick up her youngest daughter.

It only took a couple of minutes to get Abigail into her booster seat at the table, Cameron into a high chair, and Summer strapped on in a baby-wrap that had been a recent present, but one that Shelby also found indispensable since it allowed her to carry Summer and still have both hands free. Then she could set the table while Alyse finished up the food.

There was something subdued about her mother in law, Shelby noticed, as they all sat down to eat. Alyse talked to her about the afternoon with the children, what they had snacked on, what activities they had done. Still, something felt off. Not wanting to bother the children, Shelby waited until after dinner, when Cam was down and asleep, and Abigail had brushed her teeth, used the potty, and been read her bedtime story. "Is something wrong?" she finally asked her right out as she settled into the chair in the living room to breastfeed.

Alyse sat down on the sofa. "I got a call from Franz Heimler right before you got home."

Shelby froze, one hand on the sling to untie Summer. "Here?" That could not be good. Had something happened to Charlie, or to her father-in-law?

"He tried to call my house first," Alyse admitted. "Charlie was injured today."

Injured… fear spiked inside her, but it was injured… not dead. No, not dead. She swallowed. "How badly?"

Alyse looked grim. "He was working on a tank when there was an explosion. He… he lost his right hand."

Feeling suddenly nauseated, Shelby shuddered. "What… what caused the explosion?"

"They were in combat. I wasn't given any more details than that, just that they operated on him, and the hand is gone." She said it calmly, but Shelby knew that her mother-in-law had to be suffering inside the same way Shelby was. Even as she accepted it, part of her was screaming denial in the back of her head, and part of her was terrified. "They have a medical alchemist with them. He'll be all right, and they said that auto-mail would definitely be doable if he wants it, once he's healed enough."

Auto-mail, like his father's leg. Crippled temporarily, but not necessarily forever. Shelby couldn't imagine Charlie choosing _not_ to get auto-mail. He was too hands-on with his work and even his hobbies. Still, he was hurt. He would have to come home, and heal, then have the surgery, and go through anywhere from one to two years of physical therapy with the hand. Her head started spinning even trying to figure out how much that would cost… and would he still have a job?

Apparently her panic was visible on her face, because Alyse gave her a small, but reassuring smile. "The military covers recovery medical expenses and auto-mail for any soldiers injured in the line of duty. You won't have to find a way to pay for it, and you know if he wants to stay enlisted, they won't discharge him if he can come back." Her father-in-law would make sure of that, and so would Franz Heimler. Though it was a pretty standard practice and made for excellent military loyalty. "They did it for Calvin, and he was out for almost three years after his lower leg was blown off in Aerugo."

Shelby willed herself to calm. Everything she was being told was good news, despite the horrible news that made it necessary. They wouldn't be drowning in debt, penniless, and Charlie would be coming home alive, if not quite whole. "Did he say when Charlie would be home?"

Alyse shook her head. "It will depend on when they can meet up with a train, but it will probably still be several days, possibly a couple of weeks, before they will be on their way back, if all goes well."

Shelby didn't like that last phrase. It implied that things might not all go well, or that something else might happen before they could ship him home. "It had better."

Alyse nodded, though she looked like she felt as useless as Shelby did at the moment. She knew that, during the original war with Drachma, Alyse had gone to the front herself, working as a nurse. That was not an option here. "It will. Sometimes, you just have to stay sure of that."

SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK SCENE BREA

* * *

Outside the medical tent, it was dark. Night had fallen over the battlefield, as had a weighty silence. Inside the tent, Cal sat beside the bed that contained his unconscious son. _Come on, boy… open your eyes._ Cal had been sitting there for over two hours now, after fighting all day to get back; waiting, hoping, and growling at any physician or nurse who tried to tell him he needed to go lie down himself. He would live. He didn't like the pallor on his son's face, or the shallowness of his breathing. His eyes fell on the bandages wrapped tightly around the end of his arm—that ended abruptly now, just shy of the hand.

Cal didn't need to look under those wrappings to know how it looked—or how it would feel, when he awoke. He had felt it himself, and he did not envy Charlie the road ahead, but at least he would be alive to recover, and to enjoy life once more… eventually. Right now, he needed to find a way to get all of the wounded too injured to go on sent home. He knew Franz was working on that from the Central end, but right now any time at all seemed like too much.

"Dad?"

Cal looked up, startled by the groggy voice. What he saw in his son's face nearly broke his heart. He knew those eyes. He'd seen them thousands of times over, on the faces of every man and woman who had ever engaged in combat...had ever killed. There was nothing boyish left there. Still, he forced a smile on his face. "Hey there, Charlie."

For a moment, Charlie looked confused, then his expression slowly changed. "It's gone, isn't it?"

Cal knew his son had not been unconscious the entire day, but he had been in and out for hours, never entirely lucid, or so had been reported when he arrived. Still, his son was not a fool. He nodded. "Take my advice; don't look at it for a couple of days."

"I'll try." Charlie closed his eyes again for a moment, then cracked them open again. "I was really hoping…never to wake up in a hospital bed with you over me again."

"You're not the only one who wished for that," Cal assured him. "Seems to be a family battlefield curse." His own leg ached enough from the cold on his auto-mail, it was hard to forget up here.

"Not my favorite inherited trait."

At least he still had a bit of a sense of humor. "Sorry. The only good news—if you can call it that—is they said auto-mail attachment should go smoothly once you've healed up enough." Months of therapy would follow, but at least he'd have the use of his hand again someday, and the technology had improved so much it made Cal's original prosthetic look like a piece of scrap. The application of an alchemical doctor's skills during surgery also lessened the pain and sped up recovery in ways that made Cal jealous. He had never forgotten his own painful experiences.

Charlie was too groggy for more than a small nod and an "okay. Good." His eyes fluttered closed.

Cal hoped they had his son on some very powerful painkillers. "You should rest. I'll get out of your way. I just wanted you to know I'm proud of you today, and that as soon as we can arrange to meet a train, all of the severely wounded will be going home."

That got opened eyes. "Does Shelby know?"

"Heimler promised he'd let her and your Mom know you were injured in combat, but that we're both okay and you're coming home for medical leave."

"Leave?"

"Presuming you _want_ your job back when you've healed. The military's paying for your auto-mail and your physical therapy and healing up. I'm sure your unit would like you to make up for all that time off eventually."

Charlie seemed to ease, and Cal knew those fears had been assuaged. When Charlie started breathing slowly and steadily again, he knew it was time to go. Reluctantly, Cal stood and headed outside, pulling his thick winter military coat on as he stepped out into the darkness, his breath immediately fogging in front of his face as he hit the cold night air. After the warmth of the tent with its portable heaters, it was bracing.

Not ready to turn in, and with the front quiet on both sides, Cal wandered restlessly through the camp. With the coat on, his rank wasn't immediately obvious, and if he kept his hat pulled down and a scarf up around his face, he wasn't automatically identified as he walked by. This suited him tonight. Without anyone of rank to socialize with, these last weeks had been lonely. He'd had no one to unwind with; little camaraderie like there had been in the old days. He couldn't just go be one of the men, smoking and drinking around the fire, swapping dirty stories and personal dramas. There was no one waiting in his tent for him; his wife was hundreds of miles away. His living friends were all in Central, or retired. The only people here with whom he could even pretend to be himself were children; his, or his friends', and two of them were lying on beds in the medical tent he had just left.

His son was severely wounded, and his daughter was trapped behind enemy lines.

Cal could not remember the last time he had felt so alone. Years as a social outcast had made him hard; they had made him act the loner, but he had never really been one as willingly as he had played it off. He had needed friends, and a family, and comrades in arms.

At the moment he would have settled for a cup of decent coffee and someone to talk to where he didn't have to pretend or keep an authoritative distance. Someone he could vent to, and joke with, and chase away the stress that was wearing him down, that was eating his nerves away in this situation that felt more and more like a trap snapping down around them, but closing in slow motion so he could see it coming.

He had no idea what they were going to do about the plane in the short term. If it came back tonight, it could possibly destroy all of them. The beginnings of a plan told him to make use of Mustang, and he thought—used properly—Firestorm would be their best solution for destroying falling explosives before they hit the ground. The only alchemist fast enough; and the only one whose power would work fast enough. Though that presumed he did heal fast enough to be able to stay, to keep fighting. This situation was bizarre, and despite the number of coups Cal had helped in putting down over the years, it seemed to make little sense.

His bad feeling had not lessened with the passing days. In fact, he was more convinced than ever that, while they were probably making the right decisions, it was still all going to turn into a huge mess that might get them all killed.

With nothing better to do, Cal finally wound his way back around to his tent, mildly reassured that, for the moment, things had calmed down and what order there was had been restored.

One of his aide's had lit the portable heater in his tent, because it was actually warm when he got inside. Grateful, Cal changed for bed, grateful for the thermal undergarments he wore under everything. It was late, and he ached all over. The injury he had sustained earlier in the day—of which he had thankfully not blown any stitches—was finally starting to really hurt. Well, he wouldn't be laying on that side for a while.

Cal reached into the pocket of his duffel and pulled out the bottles of medication Ethan had made sure he had refilled before Cal left. The blood pressure pills, he noticed, were starting to run low. He would have to ask tomorrow if they had any in the supplies in the medical tent. He hoped so. He couldn't be the only man in the military with medical needs of that nature; even if he was the oldest person out here by at least ten years. He took that, then opened the bottle for his anxiety.

It was empty.

 _Well now, that's not depressing._

Cal closed the bottle and put it away. He'd ask tomorrow about that too, though he was less sure they had a pharmacy that would have those, even if he suspected almost every man in the military probably needed them; at least if they had lived through as much as he had, and far less. He supposed he'd just have to do it the hard way otherwise, and tough it out until he got home, like he had for most of his life.

Of course, he'd had a plethora of unhealthy coping mechanisms to get it through it. Now, he'd just have to find a more productive solution.


	22. Chapter 22

**January 18** **th** **, 1990**

Franz was almost surprised how long it took for the Assembly to call for his head. At least, that was how he thought of it. They had been patient, and they had taken most of what Fullmetal and Skyfire had said at face value as the honest truth. Franz's own recounting of events was much the same. He now knew, word for word—because Edward had repeated it at least a dozen times to him—the version of Valhov's death that they had told. Only the fact that he had personally killed Valhov definitely qualified as a highly classified military secret that should _never_ see the light of day made him able to repeat that part without hesitation. The fact that the Drachmans were now reporting Valhov's death as a murder by government spies only helped with the small deception.

Afterwards, they asked questions about Sara. Some were kinder, inquiries after her health and mental state. She was improving, he reported, and her psychological evaluation had gone well, which allowed the Assembly to accept what she had said at the military's debriefing as a clear-headed and honest report of events. While she was certainly dealing with a lot of issues, they were not beyond what most soldiers dealt with, and they were not as bad as some. She had been an experienced, trained soldier, prepared for hardship when they had taken her, and it had served her well in her survival. Franz could not have been prouder.

Other questions were not so kind. Many were not entirely convinced that she might not pose some sort of threat, though none dared say outright she still might be a spy or now a double-agent. Particularly if she was considered of sound mind. Franz bit his tongue, and offered more details of the information she had given them on Drachma, though he let others remind them of her service record. The likelihood of _Sara_ being a spy, especially after how she had been treated—and they had ample medical evidence of that now written in detailed reports—was ludicrous.

When he had finished being grilled about his wife, and about his reasons behind his decisions—mostly not to make them put him back down when the plane took off, since that was the version of the story Ed and Marcus had told, as ordered—they moved on to his next report which, in Franz' mind, meant that he was not about to be immediately ousted from office. So, the professional that he was, he moved on.

"In light of the new technology being used in Drachma—which is to say the planes being used to drop bombs on our soldiers from overhead—it seems we can no longer pretend that we have the ability to halt progress that we do not like. While we still have the opportunity and open skies, it is my plan to make use of our aircraft at least one more time, to send it to Karmatsk to retrieve our Ambassadors and trapped civilians. Reports do tell me that, a large number of Amestrians who were not in Petrayevka during the coup, have managed to make their way back to the border, and the current reported numbers of those citizens sat at four-hundred-and-fifty-seven, which according to border patrol's records is eighty-four percent of the Amestrians who were in Drachma as of that date." Apparently Drachma was not a popular tourist destination for Amestrians in the winter.

"The only problem with that, is that the plane will only hold a maximum of six people with actual safety restraint. We can install more seating, which I have currently ordered done, but that will bring capacity up to twelve, if we want to still be able to get off the ground." For once, he wished the plane were far larger. "We have been in discussion about whether it would be in our best interest or not to re-install the machine guns originally fitted to the plane. If we do, it definitely ups our chances of success and our defensive capabilities. However, doing so will require us to admit that we are building a machine of war. Drachma is already dropping explosives from aircraft. If they find out we have armed air capabilities, it is the military's opinion that this conflict will continue to escalate." The survivability of the plane, and safety of its passengers, were likely to make that a necessary concession. Of course, that depended on Drachma finding out about it.

"That said, we will also need to train active military pilots. The flight to Karmatsk will be longer than to Petrayevka, and will require a fuel stop in both directions. We have sent a request to one of our contacts in Karmatsk, whose family owns an estate along the route where Proteus' team installed the radio towers. The location would be a good, safe, temporary landing space if we can get their agreement." Ted's reports had certainly made Miss Marskaya's family sound like willing and capable allies. Franz remembered the name General Marskaya from many military reports. He had even met the man once, years ago, during a diplomatic function. While Franz had not been President at the time, he remembered an intelligent man, and not an inherently violent one; but a thinker, and someone who did not throw away lives needlessly. He hoped Marskaya's family was made from the same cloth.

"We will have the chance to make one flight. Maybe two if we are lucky." Even if they rushed the flight training, it would take weeks. He had spoken with Fullmetal and True Soul about it, and they were willing to instruct, though they both agreed that they were not going to be flying into Drachma themselves anytime soon. If anything, the first flight had apparently convinced his father-in-law that it was, in fact, possible to be _too old_ for this kind of adventure. Though it had been disappointing, given Franz was pretty sure that no matter how much training they gave new pilots, they would not be able to learn the evasive maneuvers Ed had employed. That was why he felt they might have to have the guns. "One will get out critical personnel. Two will get out everyone." He would leave it up to the people actually _in_ Karmatsk to decide who would come on either flight, if they made it that far.

"From there, it would still be our wisest move politically not to further engage the Drachmans in combat. Once we have retrieved our people, we should withdraw from the country." This was not their war, and they could not let it become their war. Still, it was not in their best interest to leave things entirely to the hands of the Drachmans.  
However, he knew that the Assembly did not want a war, and the military did not need to spend years pounding uselessly against the Drachmans in their own country. Also the planes—however many there were, they could not assume it as just the two they had seen so far—had to go. Drachma might make more, they almost certainly would, but that didn't mean Franz was going to make it easy for them.

The nods of approval confirmed his assessment. They also were probably saving his hide.

When the meeting was over, Franz headed back to his office, trying not to feel how much he had sweated through his uniform undershirt. President or no, he hadn't walked on ice that thing in a long time.

What he had in mind, what had come to mind while he was there under there scrutiny, was a plan so crazy it just might work. He needed to contact Fischer, and he needed to warn Ted Elric and his team and the Ambassadors. He needed to call Fullmetal and True Soul. There was a lot to do, and very little time to put plans in motion.

Then… then he needed to get to the hospital. Sara had been incredibly understanding about his having to be at Headquarters so much of the day; not that he would have expected less of her in other circumstances. Still, he didn't want to be away from her too long, and he finally had something he could talk to her about, and she might be able to provide him some very useful insights.

* * *

"If your cousin looks at me side-wise again I'm going to punch him."

Gloria looked up, a little surprised, from the page in front of her. "What do you mean?"

Alexei, sitting next to her on the couch, reading his way through today's local paper, shrugged. "I just mean every so often I catch him looking at me oddly, and I don't know why."

Oh. Gloria tried not to smile. "I think I do."

"Would you care to enlighten me?"

"He saw you coming out of my room the other morning."

Alexei looked nonplussed. "So, he's looking at me funny because I fell asleep on your bed."

"He's assuming things," Gloria replied primly, and looked back down at the page she was writing on. "I told him it was none of his business and that I didn't owe him any explanations. So, of course, he's assuming we did more than pass out in a sugar coma." There had been a lot of passionate kissing and cuddling, but they hadn't done nearly as much as Ted seemed to be assuming. She didn't really care.

"Can I punch him if he looks at me that way again?"

"You can do whatever you like, though you may find that harder than you think." Gloria shrugged. "If it bothers you, then _you_ can clarify matters, but it really isn't his business, and I don't really care what he thinks I do or do not do behind closed doors."

Alexei didn't look like he knew what to say to her lack of defensiveness on the issue. He seemed to be deciding when he looked past her and said, "Here he comes now."  
Ted entered the room, waving a piece of paper at them and looking excited. "I've got something to show you."

"What is it?" It was unlikely to be something minor, given how excited he looked.

Ted dropped down across from them and slid the page across the small coffee table. "Detailed information on the reports the Drachmans are giving Savahin about the fighting south of Petrayevka. It looks like your old man's giving them hell."

Gloria snatched the paper up. He could have said it was about her father! "What did he do?" They had all heard, days ago, about the reportedly devastating and successful bomb drop from the plane. The press out of Petrayevka was calling it devastating and a sure way to convince Amestris to leave. Amestrian intelligence had reported to them most specific information, though only that the casualties were heavily exaggerated, but there had been a lot of damage.

"Apparently he turned half the Drachman troops into popsicles." Ted snickered. "That's the reason the fighting stopped. They had to stop and chip out all their men before they died of exposure."

"Did they?" Gloria's eyes scanned quickly down the report, which had been translated into sketchy Amestrian to one side.

"If they did, Savahin isn't reporting it. They also don't seem to know who caused it specifically, though they're absolutely blaming our use of State Alchemists for their inability to remove our men. That, of course, is absolutely true."

There was something about the tone in his voice. Gloria looked up again. Ted _knew_ something. "Are you going to tell me why you look so smug?"

"We've got new orders, and a new timeline. I can't share everything yet, but let's just say I think Uncle Franz has outdone himself this time."

* * *

"What do you mean we're retreating?" Roy stared at General Fischer as if the older man had gone crazy. He wasn't entirely certain _someone_ hadn't. If not Whitewater, than his father-in-law. "I thought we had a plan for dealing with the plane?"

"We do." Whitewater motioned for him to quiet down. "Only the plan has changed a little. I just talked to Heimler. He's right that there's no way we are going to make any headway here. We can keep pushing, and they'll keep trying to drop explosives on us and kill us. So, we're going to feint, and then we're going to do what we do best."

"Which is?"

Fischer's smile turned slightly feral. "Throw covert alchemical operations at the mess and finish our work before they even know what hit them."

Roy was beginning to wonder just how much he had really missed by spending two days in a hospital bed in the medical tent before they had let him back on duty. "Okay, fill me in."

"There's a train coming for the wounded. That's the official word anyway. On it is also Brigadier General Severn, two-hundred men, and Scatter and Concussion." The last two, Roy knew. They were younger State Alchemists. One with a penchant for making explosives out of just about anything, and the other at long-range transmutations that did not require direct contact; the air was her contact. They worked together often.

"So, a human anti-bomb squad."

"Exactly." Whitewater nodded. "They'll be doing what you and I were going to attempt, only they're much better suited for it."

"And what will we be doing?"

" _Pretending_ to go home." Cal leaned back a little in the camp chair in which he sat. "As far as Drachma will know, we're holding position and defending out people as we all retreat back to the train to leave. That _should_ keep Drachman eyes here, while you and I and a couple of the other alchemists slink off to a rendezvous point."

"Who are we rendezvousing with, and where are we going?"

"As for where, a location just a couple of days from here that Proteus' team scouted out on their way North. We'll be meeting a team there that's going to get us into Karmatsk, and retrieve our people."

When he did not explain further, Roy did not press for details. It meant he couldn't say, and Roy knew better than to ask. "What's our timeline?"

"We leave the day everyone else starts their retreat. It should be simple in the chaos to lose a couple of men."

"Do we at least get transportation?"

"Once we walk into town, a car will meet us. I've been given a code word to identify the driver, and they have been given the same word. They will take us to our destination."

This was getting more intriguing, and mysterious, by the moment. It had all the makings of a crazy alchemist plan. "You sure Ted didn't make this one up?"

Cal chuckled. "No, no. I've been assured this one is all the President's doing, though he did run it by Sara, Fullmetal, and Closson for holes."

"That's reassuring." So it was a crazy alchemist plan; just a good one with a decent chance they wouldn't die horribly due to some foolish mistake or overseen major problem.

"So whomever we are meeting is going to get us into and out of a city surrounded by enemies. That'll be a trick."

"Same trick they used to free Sara."

Now that helped him put it together. Roy had never had the opportunity to fly before, and might never again. "Now I'm looking forward to this."

"I'm holding my opinion until I know who's going to be handling the darned thing." Cal chuckled. "They're training someone, but I have no idea who will be meeting us."

"Someone crazy, probably," Roy replied with a dismissive shrug. It was one thing to ride in a plane, but to be trusted with the lives of everyone in it, and possibly have to tangle with a Drachman plane like the one Fullmetal had? Well, they would have to be a special brand of crazy.

 **January 21, 1990**

"You're crazy."

Trisha tried not to roll her eyes across the dinner table at her father, whom she had _finally_ managed to pry out of his office and at least out to a restaurant near Headquarters for dinner, though she was beginning to think it was just because he had found out she was Grandpa Edward's top pick for pilot training. There was a small private room for parties that they had been able to claim, because President Heimler more than rated a private room. It also meant they could talk freely. "No more than anyone else in this family," she pointed out. "And you did approve the decision."

"Not because I like it." Franz looked irritated as he stabbed at the Aerugean spicy mashed potatoes on his plate. "If we had more time, I'd have gone with someone other than you and Lieutenant Rothschild."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Trisha was glad the children were eating at James' tonight. She had told them that the mission was very safe, and she would be in and out, and hopefully that meant Daddy would be home soon. "You know I was the only one able to memorize Grandpa's instructions and technical schematics for the cockpit in one day."

"Yes, yes, I know." He sighed, then looked up. "I'm very proud of you. That doesn't mean I'm not worried."

Trisha smiled. "I'd never have guessed. Relax, Dad. It's probably the safest job I could have. Well, as far as this goes, and it's your plan. Besides, all I'm really doing is picking my husband up from work, right?"

That gave her a stare that made her chuckle, before her father realized she was trying to lighten the mood. "I suppose so," he agreed, relaxing slightly. "The first round trip will be the easiest. No one will be expecting you."

Trisha nodded, cutting into her melted steak-and-cheese wrap. "We'll bring the high priority home first, and military personnel back second." Leaving the State Alchemists in Karmatsk longer was a bit of a hostage swap, but only in numbers. They were much more useful to Mihalov than the Ambassadorial staff. The Cretans, and the Amestrian civilians and Ambassador would be removed first. Then they would go back for the rest. It would be a risk, but it was far faster and more likely to succeed than the stalled-out plan with the soldiers south of Petrayevka. "Everything will be fine. You just stay here, take care of Mom, and don't let anything else crazy happen while I'm gone."

"I'll do my best, but no promises. Crazy seems to have a way of happening no matter what my orders are." He stopped talking then, for several bites, and they ate in companionable silence. "So, how is training going?"

"Great! I can already do all of the critical steering moves in the air, and this morning I learned to take off. Tomorrow, Grandpa's going to teach me how to land."

"I should hope so."

"It'll be fine," Trisha reassured him. "Besides, when I get home Mom and I have a _lot_ to catch up on." Introducing her to her granddaughter Sara for one. The wing in which her mother was being kept had very limited visitation, mostly to keep out anyone other than immediate family, like the press. However, it was also the wing where the most severe patients were kept one-step-shy of the ICU. None of the grandchildren had been in to visit her yet, though Trisha had told them the basics of what had happened. Rosa and Gabriel had been small enough that while her death had been sad, it had not been a traumatizing event, though they were very excited and impatient to see their other grandmother again. Little Sara had never met her, so she was more curious than anything else.

"That's true." That got a smile out of him. Mentioning Mom was about the only thing that did these days and even then, it seemed strained. "Hopefully by the time you get back she'll be out of the hospital."

"Just gives me another reason to be safe and hurry home."

* * *

Ted really hoped that this new rescue plan of President Heimler's came to fruition soon, because things were about to come to a head in Karmatsk. The arrival of the first Loyalist soldiers—as folks had taken to calling the government in exile, since Mihalov insisted he was only a temporary leader until a rightful election could be held—was not quiet, or subtle, and it caused a stir from the moment there were reports of their imminent arrival, to the point where they appeared over the ridge and up the road, marching up behind the primary force of the Zinovek troops. If they wanted to make a statement of confident defiance, they had done an excellent job.

While it did not solve the immediate concerns of the city's water supply getting progressively lower, and food as well, it had dramatically divided the attention of the enemy, who could not afford to pretend that there weren't men marching up their backsides.

Ted hope that meant that, when hostilities broke out, it would be away from the city instead of towards it. It made more sense for them to remain outside the city and be a distraction than to try and march into the city and become part of the besieged. Breaking the siege was more important, and giving the Loyalists more time to work on consolidating the rest of the country to make a functional counterstrike against the Zinoveks also was more important.

Unless he was summoned to a meeting, he hardly saw Mihalov anywhere, or most of the Drachman government officials. They spent a lot of time closeted in meetings and sending out instructions to constituents and employees as best they could from their current location, doing their best to functionally run the parts of the country that still listened to them. He had seen the map in Mihalov's office where those areas were marked off in bright red lines around constituencies. It was a scattered and depressing selection of country provinces and small towns, with the occasional city of decent size.

From what information Ted had been privy to at all, or had gleaned from paying attention, the representatives were having varying levels of success in uniting the people within their areas, convincing them to come to peace, and ideally side with Mihalov in restoring order. There seemed to be a lot of success with truces and listening, but less with getting people to be willing to get involved in a counter-revolution. It was a growing movement, but not quickly.

The soldiers outside were a much-needed spirit booster, since they gave any type of counter-strike a physical presence, and evidence that it was more than just words. He could only assume that Savahin would have to make another decisive move soon. The revealing of the plane was a dramatic move, and the bomb had definitely made an impact. Mihalov had already ordered a machine gun mounted to the flat walk-area on the roof of the estate, just in case they needed to shoot the plane down. Though since they knew Amestris was sending one as well, they would have to be careful of identification.

Ted had been out on the balcony more than once, gathering his own first-hand intelligence, though he hadn't wandered so far as out to the gate. They were asking everyone to stay on the grounds today while the situation was assessed.

Now he was sitting in the Amestrian living room with Felix, Caroline, a couple of the Embassy staff-the cook and a minor aide—, and Anika, watching the local news broadcast. It was the middle of the day, and most of what they were covering was inside-the-city information reminded everyone to keep their water usage to a minimum, not to waste any food, and ways to stay safe, as well as reassurances.

Anika had joined them because, as she said, the Drachman wing was generally devoid of anyone who would talk to her or take her seriously outside of Mihalov and his aunt.

She was a civilian, no matter who her father was.

Given the help she had given the alchemists in coming, and her work since she had arrived, no on in the Amestrian wing had any problems letting her socialize with them. With his team, she had definitely formed tentative friendships with most of them.

Ted just wished he dared to ask if the closeness he was beginning to feel was in any way reciprocated by Anika, or if she felt the same way about him as everyone else. When they were together without the team, she was definitely freer, and friendly, and he liked her sense of humor, and her intelligence. She was a complex and fascinating person; one whom he was trying very hard not to fall for with his classic terrible timing, but he was failing… failing hard.

"—just in, we are getting a broadcast signal from Petrayevka. Patching it through to you now."

Ted jerked his attention back to the screen as the image cut over to an exterior shot of the government buildings of Petrayevka, in some kind of open square. Lined up were twenty men and women—all in chains—and the already familiar face of Genn Savahin. The camera was focused on Savahin from the waist up. He had a very intense expression.

:I know there are many of you still living in denial; who think that anyone outside of the government can control Drachma, or that there is any chance of a pitiful group of ragtag con-artists retaking any authority within my government, or taking it away. All of these are sad delusions. My predecessor was too soft, I see, and too… diplomatic, in his approaches. This is the new Drachma. Your heroes are not coming. In fact, I have many of them with me here, now. High ranking officials who would have you all remain oppressed. Members of government, the military, the corrupt depths of our economic base; for as long as the fighting continues, they are my prisoners. If you wish to see them die, by all means, keep fighting.:

Slowly, the camera moved back and started at the beginning of the line. It had only barely started to pan down the line when Anika went rigid beside him, and gasped. When he looked at her, there was horror in her eyes.

:What's wrong?:

:That's my father!:

Ted's eyes returned to the television, but the camera was already panning past. He just barely caught a glimpse of the man she was pointing at before he was gone, and he only recognized him because of a portrait he had seen in Anika's family house. His first thought was that, at last, they finally knew where he was. The second: how the heck were they going to rescue him? He was sure Anika was going to try, and there was no way he was going to let her get killed in the attempt.

At least, he assumed she would try. He thought he had gotten to know her well enough to figure out that much. Her expression had gone from shocked to determined in seconds, and he could almost see her trying to formulate a plan.

Ted realized he had missed most of the rest of the broadcast as the camera finished its pan and came back into line with Savahin. :You have seen their faces. Their lives, like so many others, are in your hands.:

There was no timeline, no other ultimatum. He looked far too pleased to have political prisoners.

Ted was really starting to hate this guy.

Even when the news went on, no one was really paying attention. Or if they were, Ted didn't take note, he was focused on Anika, who had gone very still and silent, her face a mask of intense concentration that was nearly unreadable.

:We'll rescue him,: he found himself saying softly, so as not to be heard by the others who seemed to still be discussing the news.

Startled, Anika looked at him. :We?:

:Well you can't go alone,: he pointed out. :Getting into the city may not be hard, but getting into wherever they're holding prisoners and out again without people getting killed; do you have that kind of training?:

:No,: she admitted. :But if intelligence can find out where he is, I can lead someone there, and I can shoot anything that gets in the way.:

He had no doubts about that. Ted had no idea how he was going to talk anyone into letting him go into Petrayevka with her, but if Anika went, there was no way he was leaving her to a mission like that on her own. He'd never be able to live with himself. Even if he couldn't go himself, he could help get her trained assistance and a strategy that might succeed. :Then let's see if we can find out where they are keeping your father, and figure out a plan.:

The relief and gratitude in her expression made his heart beat faster and, stupid or not, Ted knew he would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe.


	23. Chapter 23

**January 22** **nd** **, 1990**

Meeting up with their local contact turned out to be simpler than Roy had anticipated. Reinforcements—done up to look very clearly like they were only made up of medics come to retrieve and care for the injured—had brought more officers, freeing Fischer of command of the units. That morning, the injured had left the combat zone by truck convoy heading south. So, he and Cal slipped out of the valley ahead of them before dawn, and then diverted to the nearest town as instructed. Sitting in the town's one café, drinking terrible coffee, they had been approached within the first hour by a man about Roy's age, who had dropped down on the stool beside them, ordered a coffee, and struck up a conversation with Cal which, apparently, had included whatever their code phrase was, because Cal had replied jovially enough, as if they were casual friends who happened to run into each other. The conversation went on for several minutes, turning to a new breed of thick-furred rabbit the man was supposedly farming, and they were invited out to the truck to take a look at the rabbit pelts he had there.

The pelts turned out to be a ruse, but Roy had already figured that out before they got out to the truck, got in, and drove off out of town as if they met up there all the time.  
Roy found himself in the back seat, sandwiched between a large drooling, brown-and-white furred dog that was almost as big as he was, and what appeared to be sacks of groceries. He was just grateful that the vehicle was heated, and the dog was friendly.

:So, to whom do we owe gratitude for the pick-up?: he finally asked.

The man behind the wheel grinned in the rear-view mirror. :Niki Marskaya. My sister is the one who showed your other alchemist friends the way to Karmatsk.:

Roy knew the name; he had also heard of his father. It made sense now that they would be involved in this crazy plan. : So, it's your house we're going to.:

Niki nodded. :Yes, your plane will be landing at our estate tomorrow, and on the way back, as a refueling point. So tonight, you are our guests as well as co-conspirators. I hope you will find your accommodations comfortable.:

:As long as it's warm and dry, it will be luxury compared to the tent I've been sleeping in,: Fischer quipped.

Niki chuckled. :Well the house is certainly that, though I suspect my brothers will have the best guest rooms ready by the time we get there. If my father found out we'd had you two in our house and not offered you our best, he'd skin us alive.: His expression sobered briefly.

Roy knew why. They had been given a list of names from the reported hostage-reveal, and General Marskaya's name was on it.

:We'll be sure to give him our compliments,: Cal commented, sounding surprisingly confident. :Given the General's reputation, I expect we will meet again, though hopefully under more genial circumstances.:

Roy winced, but was surprised when Niki seemed unoffended.

Indeed, the Drachman looked pleased. :Most certainly. My father has always said that the biggest mistake Drachma ever made, was making an enemy of Amestris. He did his duty, but he felt the invasion was wrong and unnecessary, and that he said as much at the time, but the old government did not agree… obviously.:

:Obviously,: Cal replied. :It was a different time, and it changed all of us.:

Painfully true words. Roy had been a boy then, but he remembered how much his father had changed when he came home, and how those experiences had caused him pain for years afterwards… until he had tried to end it himself. That he had been able to overcome his demons, and to be the much happier man he was today was a testament to his father's strength, and their family's love.

He just hoped they all got out of this one in one piece, and before it became that kind of war.

* * *

It wasn't quite a triumphant walk through her own front door, but Sara would take it. Being wheeled through the door in a wheelchair, with Franz hovering protectively, and her mother and father keeping up friendly chatter, was more than enough. Being free of the hospital for the time being was the best part. Two weeks in that plain room had been enough to drive her a little nuts, even if it wasn't nearly as isolated as her cells had been. Her family had made sure she was never entirely alone; always a friendly, familiar face. It had helped, though the time had not been a waste. Sara had appreciated getting re-acclimated to Amestris in a limited, protected environment a little bit at a time. Huge crowds, loud noises, constant input, eating regular meals not made from beets, turnips, and occasional stringy mutton… these had not been her norms in a very long time.

Now she was home, and coming through the door her senses were accosted with the familiar, though everything was just a little different from what she remembered. Franz parked her next to the couch as Sara took in the subtle nuances that didn't quite match her memories. She barely had time to register that the living room had been redecorated in her absence, when James and Krista were there, helping everyone inside and—for the first time—Sara met Aithne. "She's perfect," she declared, reaching her arms out for the precious toddler in her son's arms. "Now let me hold her."

James let her down with a chuckle. "Of course, Mom."

Sara set the dark-haired cherub in her lap and smiled. Aithne stared at her for a moment, clearly wondering who the strange lady in her house was, then giggled and waved a hand in a motion that looked like hello. "Does she smile like this all the time?"

"Except at three in the morning," Krista assured her. "Though she _usually_ sleeps through the night now, thankfully."

Sara recognized the face and tone of a mother who knew that, only by the grace of a quiet night, would she ever get enough sleep. She smiled back, understanding, though her thoughts were hijacked by something amazing wafting across her nose. "What is that delicious smell?"

"Dinner," Krista replied. "Which I need to get back to. I hope you like it. James and Franz have both assured me that these are your favorite dishes, so if they're wrong… well, I won't be defending them."

A laugh escaped Sara, and it felt so good to laugh. "They should know me well enough," she agreed, eyeing her husband and son.

Krista went back to the kitchen and, after a couple of minutes, when Aithne got tired of sitting on her grandmother's lap, James took the toddler back. For a few minutes, there was relative quiet.

"How does it feel?" her mother asked, sitting on the couch beside Sara's chair.

"Being home?" Sara looked at her mother, and around the room. She had begun to be able to catalog the little differences: the pain color on the walls, a new chair, some new art pieces. Yet many things were the same, and many were wonderfully familiar; the sounds of voices in the kitchen, and the smells of food she hadn't eaten in so long she had almost forgotten them. "It feels wonderful. To be honest, it still feels a little like I'm dreaming. I used to keep myself sane by having conversations with all of you in my head, and imagining what was happening here at home. Not big things, but little ones, like who was married, or having children, or if Ian ever made it big." Which, based on the handful of magazines she had been given to read to occupy her time, he certainly had.

Winry smiled. "Well, I hope they were interesting conversations. Did you predict anything correctly?"

"A few things." Sara had hoped, certainly, that James would find someone special to be with, and have a family of his own. She had heard about Franz becoming President of the Military, but that she had certainly never expected. She had expected that some of the older people she knew would die, so while the news of Gracia's death had been painful, and others had been sad, she had been prepared for them. "So far, reality is still better."

"Does that include us?"

For a moment, Sara froze. The voice was male, and also familiar. Turning her head, she couldn't help the little gasp that escaped as she saw Aldon and Cassie standing in the doorway to the room. Ethan and Lia, and Aeddan—wow he had grown! —were lurking behind them.

Tears. Her eyes were wet. "Don! When did you get here?"

Her middle brother laughed. He had already taken off his coat. "We just got off the train." Sara ached to run to her brother, and hug him, but she couldn't. Instead, he crossed the floor to her, and lowered his body enough to embrace her in a huge hug. Sara squeezed him back with all the strength she could muster. Like Ethan, he had aged a bit, but like most of their family, he did it well. Like with everything these days, her senses were overwhelmed with the familiar, even though she would never have given thought to the strength of her brother's hugs, or the scent of him, or the timbre of his voice. "I can hardly believe I'm seeing you again," he whispered gruffly.

"I missed you, too." Sara didn't try to stop the tears. There was no use in it these days anyway. After holding it together so long, she had cried about _something_ almost every single day in the hospital. They were good tears: healing tears of release, and often joy.

She hugged Aldon tightly, then Cassie, then Ethan even though she had seen him every single day since her rescue, and Lia, who had visited her a couple of times in the hospital. It was hard not to gush how big Aeddan had gotten. Of course he had. The last time she had seen him he had been a pre-pubescent boy, and now he was a college student. So instead she asked him how he was enjoying school.

"Should I be expecting any more surprise visitors tonight?" she asked, looking pointedly at Ethan, since he had brought Aldon and Cassie.

Ethan grinned and shook his head. "Not tonight, but soon. We didn't think having everyone over at once was the best idea, and it takes time for others to travel. Eamon and Lily send their love, but they were just here for the holidays. They did promise to call soon though."

"Good. I want to hear all about their lives, too. Anyone else?" Sara knew that some folks would be missing tonight, due to the conflict in Drachma. Uncle Al's family, most notably, and she had already told Franz they _were_ having dinner with Maes and Elena as soon as it could be arranged.

"Will and Ren are on their way back from Xing. They hopped on a train as soon as they could arrange a trip back."

Sara hadn't expected that. Of course, she missed her cousin and his wife, but he was much farther away than anyone else travel-distance-wise. "Won't that interrupt Will's work?"

"Only a little. He won't be able to stay long, but Ren insisted."

He did not elaborate, but something in Ethan's eyes said there was a surprise in the works. Sara decided to let it be. "When will they arrive?"

"Before your birthday."

It had been a long time since days had meaning, let alone special ones. For a moment, Sara had to think. January was more than half over. That did mean her birthday, and others, were coming up in the next couple of weeks. "That better mean a huge family party."

Her mother laughed. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

By the time dinner was almost finished, Trisha arrived with the three other people Sara was dying to see and—in some ways—meet. Her grandchildren had been so young when she had been taken, and they had thought her dead for most of their lives. Would Rosa and Gabriel even really remember her?

Her concerns were washed away in the sudden rush of hugs as Trisha's two oldest children, who looked almost nothing like the little children of Sara's memory, almost tackled her, squeezing her tightly. Sara managed to get one in each arm and hug them back, though she couldn't hold back her exclamations at how much _they_ had grown. Fortunately, they were still young enough to appreciate being recognized as more grown up, especially Rosa, who was happy to hear her grandmother wanted to hear _all_ about her middle school adventures.

Finally, she came face to face with a five-year-old, who stood at her mother's side, watching Sara with a look of fascination, and just a hint of shyness. Of her grandchildren, Sara had to admit the girl was well named. She looked the most like Trisha, and so the most like her. "Hello, Sara," she smiled hopefully. "It's nice to meet you."

Her experience with children was apparently less rusty than she had feared, because Sara smiled at her. "Nice to meet you, too," she replied in that formal way children learned in kindergarten. Keeping the script familiar seemed to have broken the ice a little, since her granddaughter knew how to respond. "You look like Mommy."

"Yes, I do." Sara held out a hand, as Trisha looked amused. Given how rough Sara knew she looked, she appreciated that she was still, at least, recognizable. "And so do you."

Her granddaughter moved out of the safety of her mother's arm reach, and took Sara's hand, shaking it the way she had clearly been taught. Then she reached up for a hug, and Trisha moved in, lifting her daughter up onto Sara's lap, where they could do so without climbing over Sara's legs. Her injured leg was as healed as antibiotics and alchemy could make it without the joint-replacement surgery to come, so while it still hurt, it was no longer the agonizing constant irritation it had been for so long.

Little Sara gave her a hug, then proceeded to tell her all about their new kitten, who was a bright calico with big green eyes, and named Splatter because she looked like splatter paint. She sat there, talking on and on about the kitten until Krista called them all in for dinner, then she hopped down and ran off.

"You got a kitten." Sara smiled at Trisha as her daughter grabbed the wheel chair handles and pushed her into the dining room.

"It was about time we got a pet," Trisha chuckled. "They've been begging for years, and the goldfish just don't live long enough. Besides, they're all old enough to help with pet care, and when we walked into the animal shelter, we all fell in love with her and she wouldn't stop rubbing on everyone and purring. She's a good cat."

Sara was placed at the head of the table, which suited her just fine, since it meant she could see the face of everyone in attendance without having to look past people. Franz was beside her, the food in front of her looked delicious, and Sara could not think of anyplace she would rather be than here, with her husband, her children, her grandchildren, her parents, and other family. Except, perhaps, with _everyone._ When everyone was extracted from Drachma, she was definitely going to insist her parents host one of those entire-family-crammed-in-together holidays, because there was nothing she could imagine enjoying more.

* * *

The drive to the Marskaya estate proved to be educational, and thankfully uneventful. Sitting in the warm truck, trading banter and intel with Niki, Cal was the most comfortable he had been since leaving home. After so many years in combat zones, he tended to forget to relax in his down moments. This time, he hadn't had any way to do so, even if he wanted to. The rush of the past few weeks, and most recent days, and the stress, had caught up with him, and at some point on the drive, he dozed off at least briefly. Half-way there, he noticed that Roy had passed out in the back seat. That was good, given the other alchemist had taken much worse of a beating than Cal had. He felt guilty for forgetting, even for a while, that Roy had been seriously wounded only days before, and was lucky he wasn't on the train back to Amestris alongside Charlie and the others.

His own injury wasn't worth thinking about; at least, that was how he felt. Still, by the time they arrived, he was looking forward to nothing more than a hot meal, a real bath, and sleeping on anything more comfortable than a military cot.

Given the size of the mansion, he was reasonably confident that comfort would not be a concern. They parked the car, and went into the house, where Niki showed them the two rooms they would have to themselves for the night. There was a bathroom right across the hall, and he left them alone long enough to tell his brothers they had arrived, and give them a chance to clean up for dinner.

"Nice to be trusted," Roy commented as they watched him go.

"Whether they do or not, what do they think we're going to do?" Cal pointed out. "There's nothing to be served by us messing things up anyway." He shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I intend to get a shower in before he gets back."

If there was one thing being in the military had taught Cal, it was how to shower quickly, though it was difficult not to linger under the hot water. He might have to shower again in the morning, just to enjoy it. Instead, he made it quick and efficient, then retreated to his room to get dressed, while leaving Roy enough time to shower if he cared to.

Having only three sets of clothes in his pack—including his uniform—Cal settled for his black military shirt that went under his uniform jacket, and the civilian pants he had put on that morning. When he stepped out into the hallway around the time to head to dinner, he found that Roy had done the same thing. Well, it wasn't like they had time to go shopping.

Dinner proved to be in a reasonably small, private dining room, with just the three Marskaya brothers. Niki, his younger brother Kirill, and the eldest, Leonid, who was clearly in charge. "Dinner is no time for politics," he said in decent Amestrian as they all sat down. "You are guests so please, enjoy the meal. We will save the heavy talk for later."

"Thank you." Cal was perfectly happy to put off the complication discussions. So they set to eating a hearty if uncomplicated meal of a thick stew, with hot toasted bread.

Dinner was followed by a thick slice of coffee cake, accompanied with equivalently thick coffee. The conversation was minimal, and contained mostly chitchat as the Marskayas told Cal and Roy about their family estate, what they grew and the local products that were exported elsewhere for income.

"Which brings us to our real discussion," Leo finally said as he gestured, and Kirill fetched something out of a cabinet. Cal tried not to smile when he saw that he had returned with a large bottle of vodka. He knew the brand… he'd had it before. "This is our finest local vintage, but you might have seen it before, depending on your tastes."

"I am quite familiar with it," he admitted, not commenting on the fact he had not connected the Marskaya family name on the label—since the brand was named something akin to "Snowy Cliff" but in Drachman—to the people with whom he was now dining, until that moment.

Leo's expression lit up. "Good! Then you will be able to discuss serious matters properly." He waited while Niki brought glasses, and then poured five measures, one for each of them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cal saw Roy give him a look that said clearly _is this a good idea?_

Cal gave a tiny nod. _When in Drachma…_ This was not an unexpected offer, and he was not about to refuse a hospitality offering. Besides, he firmly agreed that the type of situation they were discussing called for a good stiff drink.

Roy looked unconvinced, but took the offered glass.

Leo raised his first. "First, a toast to the success of your mission, and of our cause."

Everyone raised their glasses in agreement, then tossed them back.

Cal followed suit, enjoying the warmth and burn that slid easily down, and settled in his stomach, warming his insides. It was smoother than he had anticipated, even having drunk this before. "This is better than what you export," he complimented it as he set his glass down.

"Of course. Most people do not appreciate vodka enough to make it worth exporting the quality stuff." Niki chuckled as Leo refilled the glasses. "We don't pollute it with pre-mixed flavors either."

Cal took his glass, and settled back a little in his chair. He was warm, clean, full, and he had a good drink in hand. It was the most relaxed he had been in almost two months. "I thank you for allowing us a taste of something truly exceptional."

Leo nodded, looking pleased. "Complicated subjects are easier to speak when the way is free. Or at least that is the old proverb. It is a bit difficult to translate in Amestrian. In any case, now we talk."

* * *

Dinner had been incredibly enjoyable, as had the conversations afterwards. Even knowing that tomorrow, Trisha was making a difficult and dangerous flight North in the same plane that had rescued her, to rescue others, did not dampen the festive air of the house. Eventually, after everything had been cleaned up, and everyone else went home—save James and Krista who took Aithne up to bed—Sara retreated with Franz into what had been the downstairs guest suite when she had last lived in the house, but it had been turned into Franz' room when he convinced James and Krista to move in.

Not that Sara could say she minded. Hadn't her own parents done the same thing for Ethan and Lia?

It was a nice room, and it had been repainted a pleasant, deep green with just a hint of blue to it. The curtains were white-and-light-green plaid. The bed was still their old one, though she could hardly say she remembered what it felt like.

While Franz had helped her get out of the loose-fitting pants she had worn home that were wide-legged enough to cover her bandaged knee, Sara had insisted she could get herself dressed for bed on her own. Especially feeling as good as she did these days. Everyone looked at her like she might break, and they did not seem to find it reassuring that she had done more in far worse shape during their time apart.

So, while Franz was in the bathroom, she slipped into one of her old favorites: a long, silky, dark green nightgown that she had only worn occasionally, but that Franz had clearly not had the heart to get rid of. In fact, she had been both happy and startled to find out that all of her old things were still in the house. The farthest they had gone was into boxes in the attic. Clearly, he had brought them back down—or someone had—after her rescue.

The soft, silky fabric felt decadently indulgent against Sara's skin as she leaned back against the pillows piled up against the headboard. Even the sheets and winter quilt felt like a luxury; and she knew they were just good quality cotton.

Franz came out of the bathroom, dressed only in his shorts. It was the first time she had seen him in any state of undress since before her kidnapping, except in her imagination. She had spent a lot of time with him in her imagination over the years, not knowing how he would have aged, more often than not he looked exactly as he had when she had last seen him, or slightly younger. For the first time, she got a look at her husband as he was now.

"You've put on weight." The words came out of her mouth. Almost at once Sara regretted them when Franz looked startled.

Franz looked down, then looked up at her, and apparently caught her stricken expression. He laughed, surprising her. "Maybe a couple of pounds… a year." He shrugged. "I'm almost seventy, Belle. I think I'm allowed to be a little comfortable. You should just be grateful I even get to the gym three days a week, usually, given my work schedule."

Sara's face was still flushed hot. How could she have just blurted something critical out like that? "I'm sorry. My social graces are rusty."

"Like you were ever subtle." Thankfully his feelings were apparently not hurt. Franz moved towards the bed and lay down beside her. "Does this mean our romantic evening is no longer on the agenda?"

"What? No! Of course not," Sara shook her head vehemently. All she had wanted for years was to snuggle up with her husband. "It's just odd, adjusting to everything. So much is the same, but then there are things that are different when I don't expect them. Mostly people. Life kept going without me. Kids are growing up, or having kids of their own. People have gotten married, retired, gotten older… passed away…"

"And yet, somehow, the fact you can't see my toned abdominal muscles clearly bothers you most." His grin broadened.

He was teasing her, she realized. "I didn't say that," she insisted, even as she reached up and touched his glasses. "It's just… differences. It's like I'm in my dreams, but little things are off. Like the world is still just starting to feel real again, and I know I won't wake up back in Yegor's basement, chained to a wall while being beaten and whipped."  
Franz cringed, and the smile slipped from his face, replaced with that look that said he felt guilty and was trying to hide it. It also had a hint of _I'd kill him again in a moment_ to it.

Sara pulled the glasses off his face, and smiled even as she looked at them, partially as a distraction while she figured out what to say that wouldn't ruin the mood any further. She had meant to fold them and just set them aside, but even they were different. "Wow, these are even thicker!"

Franz stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. "So, my hair is going gray, my eyesight's even worse, and I'm getting soft. Anything else you'd like to add to the list?"

She had done it again. This was not going well. Sara folded the glasses, handed them back, and rolled over awkwardly onto her back. "I'm sorry." Tears leaked from her eyes, unbidden. Sara rubbed them away with a swipe of her arm. "I'm not trying to be critical, really. I love you, and these things don't matter. They're just… new. I've spent years keeping everything bundled up inside, and my thoughts to myself and now, I can't seem to keep them from coming out of my mouth." The tears kept coming. _Just great._ "I used to compose letters to you, to all of you, in my head, of things I wished I'd said to you. Things I wanted you to know, and sometimes even when I was going through, even though I had nothing to write them down with, and I knew you'd never hear them."

She didn't fight him when he slid his left arm under the pillow that supported her head, and pulled her a little closer into his embrace. "Except that I will," Franz commented softly into her ear. "If you ever want to share them; because you're free, and safe, and no one is taking you away ever again."

She relaxed into his arms, reveling in the feel of his skin, and the smell of him; his natural scent, mingled with soap and the remaining hints of that morning's aftershave. He wanted to know what she'd been through, she knew that, but as much as she wanted to tell him everything, there was just something about much of it that stopped her from pouring out the truly personal parts. He had heard her debriefing; he knew the facts of so much of it. Still, it was hard. Sara had always known she wasn't invincible, but she had been so confident in her skills, so sure she could handle anything. They _could_ have killed her as easily as they had kidnapped her. She had been caught, tortured for information, and physically broken when she tried to fight back. Sara hadn't been used to losing, and part of her still didn't want to let it all become real to her family. She wanted to protect them from that.

Yet there was Franz, waiting patiently, holding her gently, as she had missed and wished for over a long, cold, painful nearly eight-year span. It felt like thirty.

She supposed she could try. Still not looking him in the face, but looking up at the ceiling, she found it a bit easier to start. "Well, since you already killed him, I guess it doesn't do much good to recite the letter I would have sent you after Yegor tried to make me his mistress."

"He did _what?!"_ Franz partially shouted in her ear.

"Oww." Sara winced. "Yes, he tried, and I tried to use it as an opportunity to kill him. Unfortunately, my attempt went badly."

"I'd say so." When she snuck a look, Franz looked both disgusted and thoughtful. "He didn't…"

"No. I never let it get that far." Sara shuddered. "I wouldn't have slept with that paunchy bastard even if it meant my freedom." Even thinking about it made her want a bath.

Franz sighed, clearly relieved. "I didn't think it would have been willingly," he pointed out. "Though if I'd known, the first shot would have been to the groin."

Sara liked that thought. She smiled. "Okay so, what story _would_ you like to hear? I'm up for one tonight."

"Tell me about your most successful jail break attempt," Franz suggested.

She could do that. "Well, that was in the first prison, in the first year I was there," Sara began, thinking back. There had been a lot, but that one would always stick in her mind. "I'd managed to convince several other prisoners-they were almost all political prisoners but there were a few useful thugs-that we could cause enough of a riot in the yard that we could take out some of the guards and make a break for it."

"How did you do that?"

"Oh, a little ego boosting, a little common sense. We worked it out quickly, in small passing conversations or moments on the yard, never in large groups. We made it look innocuous. We even staged a couple of fights between members of the team to make it look like we hated each other."

"Clever."

"Thank you." Sara shifted, getting more comfortable. Franz immediately adjusted the blanket, however unnecessarily. "So, long story short, we started a riot in the prison yard that had the most _actual_ violent criminals, then made a break out the back gate while the guards were distracted. It was the same time of day they normally delivered food for the week, so we had an easy time overpowering the delivery drivers and the prison cook without killing them."

"Kind of you." Franz chuckled softly. "What went wrong?"

"We made it several miles into the hills before they caught up to us." As she talked, more details slowly came to the front of her mind. "We had hidden in a ravine, where we thought we might be able to camp for the night. We'd managed to make a trail that didn't leave a lot of tracks, despite having fifteen people with us. Still, we hadn't counted on them bringing in dogs, and sleds, and they moved faster than we did. We had grabbed some food on the way out, but apparently that just helped them track our scent faster. It was the middle of the night when they set on us." A dark, fireless night, given their fear. Huddled together for warmth. A fruitless endeavor. Sara shook her head, feeling once again the bitter cold, and the determination in her heart. "They shot seven of us dead… two even after they had surrendered, just to make an example of them, and injured six more. We couldn't fight them. They took us back to the prison. There..."

Franz did not interrupt the silence for a long time. "What happened, Belle?" he finally urged gently.

She swallowed. "That was the first time they intentionally broke my leg. Then, they locked me back up in solitary." It had been her third escape attempt, and her third time in solitary. "I never want to be alone like that again."

Franz gave her another squeeze. "I will _never_ leave you alone again," he said determinedly. "That is, unless you ask it," he amended. "But never like that."

"I know you won't. As overwhelming as being around so many people again is, it's far, far better than being utterly alone." She took a deep breath and let it out, willing herself to relax the muscles that had tightened as she told the tale. "I wish you had asked something simpler."

"Then I will." Franz reached up, caressing her face gently with his fingers. "Tell me some of the things you always wanted to."

That was easier. Sara smiled, bringing a hand up to touch his, holding his fingers against her skin as she looked over at him. "I wanted to kiss you when I was fourteen." She knew that he had realized her crush on him long before they had ever spoken of it; when they had been pen pals at a distance, then friends. Still, it had not been something spoken of, given how young she had been. It would have been terribly inappropriate. "You were the first boy I ever felt that way about." Something at the time she had put down as a silly fantasy. Still, it was true. Even before she had discovered feelings for Mars Leighton, and dated him in high school, Franz had been on her mind. Perhaps that was why she had been drawn to Mars' quiet, dark haired good looks in the first place. "I even fantasized about it sometimes, though I knew it would never work, since my father would have killed you."

Franz laughed. "You're right. Kissing General Elric's underage daughter? Definitely a death sentence." As if to challenge it, he leaned down and kissed her.

Sara did not try to reply. Instead, she lost herself in the kiss, her hands moving to slide around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, letting him feel the love and longing that had held her, kept her moving forward when she long would have given up.

"Did I match your wildest adolescent dreams?" Franz asked with a deep-throated chuckle when their lips parted.

Sara chuckled. "You more than exceeded them."


	24. Chapter 24

**January 23** **rd** **, 1990**

Sunlight on snow was painfully bright. Cal had forgotten just how bright, but the strikingly cloudless morning, with its brilliant blue sky made for near-blinding conditions. He was grateful for the sunglasses he kept in his bag. They helped cut the glare and kept the low pounding in his head to a dull pulsing that he told himself the bright sunlight would have caused anyway. In truth, he was surprised by hung over he was _not,_ given the gargantuan task of keeping up with three Drachmans the night before in deep conversation and in consumption. They had talked long and late into the night about the current situation in Drachma, and what Cal thought Amestris might reasonably do, or could not do, in regards to assisting against the Zinoveks. He had made no promises, and had presented the situation as realistically as he could. They understood, thankfully, why Amestris getting too directly involved would only harm Mihalov's chances of demonstrating the government in exile as legitimate. They had public support from Amestris, but their strength needed to be their own.

Cal did not know what time it was when Roy had turned in for the night, but it couldn't have been long after Kirill did. All he knew for certain was that the clock in his room had read nearly three in the morning before he crawled under the thick, warm blankets and passed out, sleeping deeper than he had since leaving home; a pleasantly dreamless sleep, devoid of the nightmares that normally plagued him during a war, or after.

He had awoken late, though not too late, and had been able to eat the offered breakfast of thick sweet porridge, with more coffee. Their flight was—according to all radio correspondence—due to arrive on time in the early afternoon. Cal knew who to expect on the flight, but he hadn't told Roy that he knew. He was looking forward to seeing Firestorms' face when he found out his wife was one of the two newly trained pilots. Cal had only met Lieutenant Rothschild in passing, so he would have to trust that he had been as successful in training as Trisha if he was allowed on the mission.

For all he had gone to bed early, and certainly drunk less, Roy did not look much better than Cal this morning. He also wore sunglasses, and while he looked more rested than he had since the explosion, he still looked less energetic than Cal was used to from him. "You know if you duck out early you don't get to look more hungover than I do," he quipped as they stood out along the stretch of road that had been designated as the temporary runway, waiting for the plane.

"Fine. Next time I'll get drunk, and you get blown up," Roy suggested. "How are you even standing?"

"Decades of practice." Cal only wished he were exaggerating. Now was not the time to elaborate on how many times he had had far, far more than they had been offered last night. "Don't gripe, you were invited to this party."

"Given the two choices, I prefer sleep." Even in the glasses, Roy held one hand up above his eyes to shade them as he scanned the sky. "Today would be the first day in months without clouds."

"Better for landing though." Cal tried not to think about the trip ahead too much. The idea of flying through the air with nothing between them and the ground, trusting their lives to a machine and pilots who—no matter how talented—had very little experience, did not instill him with much confidence. "Clear view, and the road's clean and dry." He did not want to know how much effort had been put into making sure that happened for the length of drive he could see. He hoped whoever had done it had been well paid.

"Funny to think that if this works, we could be home in a few days." They might even beat the train, though he wasn't sure how he felt about getting home before his wounded son.

"I can't say I'd mind," Roy commented agreeably. "I know Trisha and the kids would be glad to see me, and I hate missing the huge family reunion going on back home without us."

"You think your mother-in-law missed you?" Cal quipped, though he couldn't help grinning.

"As much as she missed you, at least," Roy countered. "Admit it; you're dying to be back at Central to see her too."

"Of course I am." Cal almost hadn't believed it, but then he'd seen less plausible things happen in his many years as a State Alchemist. "She's one of the few close friends I've ever had… mostly because she put up with me. I've missed her. Though at the moment, the face I'd like to see most is my wife."

Roy chuckled. "Yeah, I'd like to see mine too."

 _Give it just a few minutes, and that wish is going to come true._

* * *

Lieutenant Justin Rothschild had taken the first flight out of Central, as planned. Between the two of them, Trisha was currently the better pilot, and she would be flying the second run in, which would have a tougher landing, as well as the flight out of Karmatsk.

So she was eagerly sitting in the co-pilot's seat, keeping an eye on the meters as Rothschild made his descent towards their scheduled landing zone. Trisha relaxed as it came into view, and she could see—clearly marked against the bright white snow—a long clear stretch of pavement, with bright blue and yellow barrels or traffic markers of some kind set out along both sides to make it clearly distinct. The huge Amestrian liondragon—or so she presumed from the blobby head and tail— hastily painted on the pavement in white was also a helpful indicator that they were in the right place.

Their departure that morning had been kept quiet, so witnesses were minimal, and the flight itself had been otherwise uneventful, aside from the reasonable nerves that came with the high profile and yet semi-secret nature of the mission at hand. While the description itself was simple—fly in, rescue people, fly back to the estate, then repeat as quickly as possible to avoid giving Savahin a chance to retaliate or send his other planes after them—the timeline was very short, and the risks were many. Once they had everyone to the Marskaya estate, well out of the way, they would make two ferrying trips back to Central. As long as the Zinovek's did not find out where they were stationing temporarily within the country, they should be fine.

Given who she had been told they were picking up at the Marskaya estate to help with the evacuation, Trisha had a little more faith in their ability to pull things off.

Still, it was all she could do to remain entirely calm and professional as they came in for a landing in the middle of the day over mountainous Drachman territory. _Thank goodness for clear skies._ It would be much more difficult landing in Karmatsk, given that it would be near or full dark by the time they arrived.

The landing was nearly Elric-textbook perfect. Which was to say, they landed and came to a stop with only minimal bumps and no sliding, almost right in front of the house at the end of the drive. Outside the cockpit window, Trisha could see two familiar figures standing with another that she did not recognized, but assumed to be one of the three Marskaya brothers she had been told to expect. "Nice work, Justin," she complimented the pilot.

"Thanks." He grinned. "I wish I could say I knew it would go that smoothly."

One thing she liked about him was his humility. "We're the first military-trained pilots in Amestris. No matter what happens, that makes us the best pilots in Amestris, at least for now," she assured him as she undid her harness and stood up. "Let's go pick up our first passengers."

Trisha didn't wait for him to respond. Instead she hurried to the back and lowered the hatch that became the stairs into the plane. She was glad they were in winter coats already, because a blast of frigid air that made Central winter seem almost cozy hit her face as she leaned out and grinned at Whitewater and her husband. Cal Fischer looked amused. Roy looked completely stunned. Trisha grinned. Clearly, he hadn't been told she was coming. "Hey there, hot stuff. Someone call for a lift?"

* * *

Roy didn't bother asking Fischer if he had known who was on that plane. The other man's smug grin said it all. So he didn't bother with any snide remarks. Instead, he hurried across the pavement to the plane, catching his wife up in his arms as she hit the bottom of the stares, and pulling her into a passionate kiss; propriety and professionalism be damned.

He could have kissed her all day, if breathing had not been a requirement. "Damn, you're beautiful," he said as their lips parted.

Trisha beamed up at him, face flushed from the cold _and_ the heat, though there was a hint of concern in her eyes. "I missed you, too. Though I'm going to kill Dad. He didn't tell me you were hurt."

Of course her keen eyes would have noticed the newly-healed burns on his lower jaw and neck, even if they were already fading thanks to quality treatment. "Well, obviously it wasn't too severe, right? I mean, I'm standing here and I'm still fit for duty," he assured her.

Trisha did not look entirely convinced. "We'll see about that. I'm still going to have words with Dad about this later." Then her expression softened a little. "Mom says hi, by the way."

Roy was a little surprised at the surge of emotion he felt at that statement. Somehow, hearing it from Trisha made it feel more immediate and real. "I look forward to saying that back to her myself. So, you're our pilot?"

"One of them," Trisha replied. "Lieutenant Rothschild is our other pilot. He was the only other one who could keep up with me in Grandpa's crazy-intensive training course."

"Then I'm sure we're in good hands." Roy smiled, still not letting go of Trisha's arms, even if it was a loose hold. It had been a long couple of months. "You should come in and warm up before we go. Both of you," he added hastily when he realized that the Lieutenant was grinning at them from the top of the stairs.

"We will as soon as we make sure the plane is refueled properly," Trisha promised. "We were told there would be fuel for us here."

"Yes, there is." Roy gestured as he turned around. Fischer and Leo Marskaya were walking their way now, chatting about something. Behind them, the truck fixed with a fuel tank they normally kept in the garage for their vehicles was lumbering towards them. "Do you need to oversee the whole thing?" he asked, understanding the necessity, but really hoping for a few minutes alone.

"I'll handle it," Rothschild assured them with a knowing look.

"Thanks," Roy grinned. "I owe you one."

"I'll keep that in mind, Sir."

* * *

Her first full day back in her own house was as atypical as Sara could have imagined. Yet, somehow, this was unsurprising and oddly comforting. Her family had continued living in her absence, and with the country in the middle of trying to not get involved with—while already firmly involved with—an international conflict, she could hardly have expected her family not to be involved. Especially not when Franz had become President of the Military in her absence, which suddenly made her the wife of the President. That, in itself, was going to take a little getting used to when she was in a position to publicly step into the role. Not that she had decided exactly what her role was yet, given that she had never technically retired from the military either. Right now, her life was a lot of open-ended questions.

Interestingly enough, she felt very little anxiety about it. She was alive, and she was home, anything else right now was a bonus, and she had to get her knee replaced and do physical therapy before she could even consider going back to work.

Franz had apologized that morning about having to go in to the office—like he had almost every time he had left the hospital during her stay—and once again Sara had reassured him that she completely understood that he had to do his duty first and that she expected nothing less. She would still be here when he came home.

Being a Tuesday in the middle of the school year, that meant that everyone else was busy too. Trisha had left that morning on her mission, James was at Headquarters, Krista had taken all of Trisha's kids to school, then gone in to work, which—since she worked at a pre-school and early education facility—meant that Aithne went with her, though she was in a different part of the building during the day in her own toddler class.

Lia had classes to teach, Aeddan to attend, and Ethan had plenty of other patients besides his sister. Not that Sara was left unattended or uncared for by any means. While she was sure she could have managed the day by herself, she was not left alone. Her parents came over as everyone else was leaving for the day, and she spent the morning chatting with her mother, playing cards with her father, and catching up on what had changed in the world while she was completely out of the information loop. Things that didn't automatically involve politics but they hadn't gotten around to discussing in the hospital; which was fair, since she had spent a lot of time sleeping the past couple of weeks.

Around lunch, Uncle Alphonse and Aunt Elicia arrived with Xingese take-out and they all sat around her living room eating lunch and pouring over photo albums. If there was one thing Sara could always count on, it was that her family would always chronicle every major event. There were holidays, birthdays, new babies, and lots of candid everyday moments from everyone's lives. She could only marvel at some of what had occurred. She wasn't too surprised that Minxia had married her long-term boyfriend and that she and Thrakos were still adventuring and supporting archeology all over the world, just with baby in tow, or that Michio was working on his medical residency at a hospital in Xing, and that Kamika was there too now. Lily's twins were adorable, and she was proud that her niece was currently playing full-time for the East City Orchestra while finishing her teaching courses. It was probably a good thing they hadn't had any more children yet! Eamon had stayed on in Pylos for a Masters' program that focused more directly on the zoology aspects that interested him most, which were veterinary but for exotic and endangered species. Charlie's relationship drama and subsequent swarm of children and career change had come up briefly in passing before, but the pictures brought that entire period to life; including Alyse's harrowing battle with cancer. Having seen Alyse while she was in the hospital, Sara knew that her cousin had come through stronger than ever, but it was still emotional to look through.

The best surprise came in the middle of the afternoon, when Aldon and Cassie finally showed up, with another surprise guest.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Sara chuckled as Ian came into the room. "Nice to see you still have time for your aunt."

Ian grinned as he crossed the room and gave her a surprisingly firm hug. "Are you kidding? I'll make time for you anytime, Aunt Sara."

"Which is why this is the first time I've seen you since I got home?" Coran and Gail, and even Callie, had briefly made it by the hospital while she had been there.

For a moment, Ian looked stricken, then he smiled when he realized she was teasing him. "Well, the life of a celebrity is, in fact, a lot of hard work and schedules I don't set."  
"Which is, I'm sure, why you're hear without the beautiful girl I've been seeing in all these family photos."

"Bonnie will be over later," Ian promised, grinning. "I'm not shooting this afternoon, but she had to finish final adjustments on a couple of costumes for a film that starts shooting tomorrow, but trust me when I say she's dying to meet you. Something about the aunt who didn't kill me when I was still young and insufferable."

Sara couldn't help a laugh. "I like her already."

"In the meantime, I did bring you a very egotistical present." Ian grinned and pulled out a couple of film tapes. "The greatest film hits of Ian Elric, Volumes one through three."

"There's enough to fill more than one?" Sara asked, taking the tapes. It was smaller than the prototypes that had been new when she had been taken. Each one was labelled with the names of a couple of movies, none of which she had heard of before.

"If you include television episodes, it would be a lot more," Ian admitted. "These are just the ones I thought you'd like most."

"He means they're the ones where you don't spend half the movie looking at his half-naked body," Aldon quipped.

"Thanks, Dad." Ian rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "He's not wrong though, and you should feel special. The last one on there is my most recent work, and it's not out for sale to the public yet."

Well now, that was something. "Then I definitely feel special." Sara smiled. "And given how much time I'm going to spend sitting around the house for the next few days, this will give me plenty to watch besides the news." Which she was already getting tired of, mostly since it was all about Drachma, with random side speculations about _her._

Her distaste must have shown on her face, because Ian chuckled. "Mixed publicity's not all it's cracked up to be, is it?"

"No, no it isn't." Sara had been fine with occasional reports on missions that weren't classified, or where the results could not be contained, but this speculative work, particularly since not everyone seemed to be willing to just blanket accept the military's decision that she hadn't sold Amestris out at some point and that her return now wasn't somehow too convenient; well, it was irritating to say the least. "I'm going to have to make a public statement before too much longer, or these conspiracy theories will continue to get even more out of hand."

"I can help arrange that if you want," Ian offered. "I know most of the newscasters in Central at this point. You want someone fair and objective, who doesn't ask attack questions and won't try to twist what you say."

"Does anyone like that exist on the news?" Sara asked.

"There are a couple of them." Ian nodded. "If I were you, I'd offer the exclusive to Lisa Phillips on Channel Four. She's Prime Time, she doesn't engage in idle speculation or gossip, and she's got a wide listening audience who respect and will agree with her take on pretty much anything. Her show is popular, and she's respectful with her guests and focuses on critical matters. She also goes over the questions she plans to ask with you beforehand, and doesn't deviate with surprises." He shrugged. "I've been on her show several times so, you know, I've got a pretty good idea of what you would expect. It also helps that it's a civilian program with no military affiliations, and no family ties. It's not even an affiliate of CVS. Which, for a first interview, is good since everyone knows we're related."

All very good, professional advice. "Then I'll go with whomever you recommend," Sara agreed. "Though it needs to wait a couple more weeks." She didn't say anything about Trisha's mission, if only because she doubted Franz had told everyone in the family exactly what it entailed. Sara wanted that handled, hopefully with success, first. "Any other professional suggestions?"

"Don't look too pretty."

She couldn't hold back a snorted laugh. "Somehow I don't think that will be a problem."

Ian smiled. "I'm serious. You look surprisingly good for someone who's gone through what you have, but the regular public isn't going to know that. I'm not saying look worse; just, don't hide anything too well. Let people see reality. I know you'll be honest on camera, so let what they see be honest, too. They need to see a tough woman who was put through hell and survived. Whether you want sympathy or not, you're going to need to evoke a little. It'll make the unbelievable seem more believable."

"And how am I supposed to look like that?" Sara asked. She had no doubt it was possible, or Ian wouldn't have mentioned it. Besides, he made a living being other people.  
His grin widened. "Well, I did marry a woman who makes movie stars _look_ like movie stars, and everybody else. Just let Bonnie handle it."

"Then I leave the details of this media circus in your capable hands." It would be a relief, really, not to have to think about more than what she wanted to say, and how she wanted to phrase it. It would also be easier to keep the politicians out of it. Up until now, they had kept all of the press and media away from her. Easy enough in a hospital, though she expected there had been even more phone calls than Franz had told her about. The only reason the house phone wasn't ringing off the hook was because all the military higher-ups had unlisted house numbers.

"We'll take care of everything."

* * *

Trisha kept her eyes focused on the instruments as much as on the view out the cockpit window as the sun quickly dipped lower and lower along the horizon off to her left. If the map they were following was correct, and her instruments were right, then the lights in the distance, bright pricks that occasionally poked through the mountains, were Karmatsk. Communication between Headquarters and the Mihalov Government claimed that the widest, straightest street in the city had been cleared for her landing, and that it would be light by streetlamps, and additional lights—while the lights to the streets on either side would be darkened to make the landing strip clearer. She would need to approach from the south-west, which was fine with her, since she was coming up from the south to begin with. She would have to make it a quick landing, to minimize any time the Zinovek troops might have to try and shoot anything their direction, though she had been assured if they tried, the other troops on the ground would distract them. She hoped it wouldn't come to a fight if they could get in and out fast enough.

"Wow, we're already here." Behind her, Roy had unbuckled and had been standing, watching her and Justin work for most of the flight. "This would make long distance travel so much easier."

"If we don't get shot out of the sky," Trisha reminded him. "Your Grandfather and Grandpa Ed decided decades ago that this kind of technology should remain classified in the hopes that it wouldn't be used in exactly the way the Syndicate had planned, and the Zinoveks are trying to now. Remember, they almost shot Grandpa out of the sky two weeks ago."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten," he assured her. "Still, it's a shame. Can you imagine being in Xing in the Imperial City in a couple of days? Or Pylos in one? We could be basking on the beaches of Aerugo in less time than it took to get here."

"They would certainly be warmer." Though Trisha had to admit that from the air, the Drachman landscape was breathtakingly beautiful. "Still, at least the view is nice."

"Too bad not everyone wants to see it," Roy commented pointedly.

"I heard that!" Fischer grumbled from the seats in the back, where he was still strapped in. Trisha was beginning to wonder if it was just something about planes and old men, but both her father and Fischer did not seem to be fans of flight. Though since Skyfire and her grandfather hadn't had trouble with it, maybe it was just that some people were more comfortable with their feet on the ground. "I saw plenty earlier."

They had all spent time enjoying the view once they had gotten airborne. "You should strap back in," she commented to Roy. "We'll be landing in a few minutes."

"Now that I'd love to watch." Roy gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, then followed the direction without complaint.

It was time to focus. Trisha put thoughts of anything besides landing the plane out of her mind as they made their approach, coming in around to line up with where she had been told the streets would be. Justin sat beside her, also reading the various instruments and calling out numbers and information that matched what she was understanding. It helped, just to be sure that both of them were reading it right. They couldn't afford mistakes.

Thankfully there was one reasonably wide boulevard in the city that ran over a mile, which would be long enough for their little plane as long as they came down as soon as possible over the city wall. Which mean starting their descent and timing it right.

"Looking good so far," Justin commented encouragingly as they came around to line up properly. They didn't dare take the time to circle the city or give the enemy more time to make a target of them. She hoped that, at least at first, they would mistake the plane for belonging to Drachma, particular coming in at this hour.

The sun was vanishing as they came around to line up with the city, and she lost sight of the sunset. In front of her, dark purple night was creeping across the landscape, casting the world in shadows.

Thankfully, that means she could see the lights of the city lining up…and some distinct darkening that followed, drawing two very clear lines across the city for anyone looking down from the sky. From outside the walls, she doubted they would notice a thing.

Another thing she wished they weren't dealing with; radio silence. They didn't dare let the Zinoveks hear their communications, so they were coming in quiet.  
There was minimal turbulence as she came in, angling carefully, trusting her instruments to tell her speeds and altitude. Easing it down steadily, she focused on the numbers, and on the feel of the plane, and her mind raced through everything Grandpa Ed had told her during their practice sessions. She could do this. Almost there…. almost there...  
The wall flashed by beneath her and Trisha dropped the plane down on its landing gear which tapped the road, hopped slightly, then settled solidly, filling her ears with a roaring noise as buildings sped by her at terrifying speeds. Applying steady pressure on the break, she had to remember to keep breathing as the plane finally slowed more and eventually came to a halt in the middle of the street.

Blowing out a deep breath, she relaxed her grip. "Welcome to Karmatsk."

Beside her, Justin was grinning. "Smoothest landing yet."

Behind them, she heard restrains being unfastened and movement, and then Roy was beside her, also grinning. "Wow, that was a rush. Nice landing." He kissed her cheek as she undid her own restraints and stood.

"Thanks. Let's find our passengers and get this done." She would have liked a break, but they only had so much time. If they could take off as unexpectedly as they had landed, there was more of a chance of success.

Thankfully, having been told the length of runway needed, they opened the hatch to find a group of people already coming towards them, wrapped in heavy coats and hats.

Trisha recognized several of them immediately, because they were very familiar faces.

"Nice of you to come visit," her cousin Ted chuckled as he reached them first. "Best entrance I think I've ever seen."

"Too bad it's not much of a party." Roy commented as he joined them on the street, with Rothschild and Fischer behind them.

"Oh it's been pretty interesting here." Ted stepped out of the way as the rest of the welcoming party reached them.

The new Ambassador, Lita Chalmers, was one of six other people in the group. Two Amestrian security men were with them, and then two men who appeared to be Drachman security guards.

The last face was also familiar, though Trisha had never expected to see him again. He was older, grayer, and a little heavier, but she knew that face. She had danced with this man, made Roy insanely jealous, and then assisted in busting part of a conspiracy plot against the government with both of them. Behind her, Roy had gone quiet. :Hello, Gavril.: Trisha smiled.

Gavril Mihalov had apparently also not been told that she was one of the pilots—or that Roy was one of the men being sent—because he looked surprised to see them both. After a moment though, he laughed and came forward, offering his hand. :Looks like you've come to the rescue again,: he chuckled. :I am glad to see you both.: Trisha shook his hand, and then Roy did as well, before Gavril joined Fischer and Chalmers, with a more official looking handshake and a nod of respect.

Pleasantries aside, the plan was swiftly followed. Further guards came forward—Amestrian and Drachman—to protect the plane while they were escorted the few short, frigid blocks to the estate, where they could rest a few minutes, get warm, have a quick dinner, and coordinate the evacuation.

Gloria met them at the door; Along with nearly a dozen other people, but she was at the front, and Trisha was happy to greet her cousin with a hug that was just as enthusiastic in return. Though the moment Fischer came through the door, Gloria dropped everything else and enveloped her father in a much tighter embrace.  
Not that Whitewater's grip on his daughter was any less fierce. "How many times have I told you to make sure your vacation plans don't intersect with any international political incidents?" he commented gruffly.

Gloria chuckled. "I know, I know, but this one has been pretty amazing anyway."

"Your daughter has been invaluable to our cause," Gavril said in Amestrian. "Her and Deviatovski's journalistic work have helped us immensely with reaching out to the Drachman public and garnering and growing our support. I will be quite sorry to see them go, for the pleasure of their company as much as their assistance. I do hope, when all of this is over, you will come visit Drachma again, and stay as our family's personal guests."

"Thank you, Mr. Mihalov," Gloria replied with her usual grace. "It would be our pleasure."

Alexei, standing behind her, nodded. Not that Trisha would have expected an objection from him. Certainly he would be coming back to visit his family.  
They were quickly shown to a washroom where they could clean up, and then to a small dining room where food was already laid out, allowing them to take what they wanted to facilitate not wasting time.

"Everyone is packed and prepared to go," Lita Chalmers assured them as they ate. "What are our orders?" She looked to Fischer.

"You and Mr. Lastobar will be on the first flight," he explained between bites, motioning between Lita and Herme Lastobar, who had joined them for the meal. "We can fit all of the Cretan staff on the first flight, and Amestrian, presuming Firestorm here and I stay behind on the first run. We'll come behind with the rest of the Alchemists, Miss Marskaya, Deviatovski, and my daughter."

Ted looked like he wanted to say something, but he kept quiet.

"That will give us the best chance of protecting the plane from the ground on take-off, and holding back any aggressive actions on the part of the Zinoveks outside

"Does your country ever send in regular soldiers instead of Alchemists?" Gavril asked with a chuckle.

"Lieutenant Rothschild isn't an alchemist," Trisha gestured to her co-pilot, who smiled.

"But we do tend to get sent on a lot of weird and specialized missions," Fischer acknowledged. "Our unusual and widely varied skill sets and training make us well suited for unusual work, though we have excellent soldiers as well. But soldiers are trained to follow orders with minimal question. Alchemists…well, we tend to be a different breed." He grinned, and Gavril chuckled.

"Having seen present company at work," he nodded respectfully at Trisha and Roy, and at Ted, who was there as the head of the local alchemist unit, "I can only agree with that assessment. You will be missed."

"You're sure we can't get you out of here?" Trisha asked. It seemed to her that the best thing for the government to do would be to break out of the siege and go somewhere else. If nothing else it would buy them time while the enemy figured out where they were.

Gavril smiled, but shook his head. "No. There are too many of us, and we are best equipped here to continue functioning as government to the parts of Drachma who believe in us, and are fighting to restore balance. Even if they don't particularly care for us, they understand that Savahin is a madman, and the Zinoveks will restore order not the way they claim, but with fear and force. Drachma has seen its share of dark regimes. It doesn't need another one. The government we end up with will likely not be the one that was just ousted, but it will contain many of those rightfully elected, who have remained loyal to the needs of their constituents."

"I hope you're right," Fischer nodded somberly. "We can see what we can do to shore up your defenses before we go, since we'll have a few hours."

Trisha had a feeling, given the look Fischer and Roy traded, that shoring up defenses might include some very clever destruction outside the walls as well, if they could make it look accidental. She had no idea what they could do about bombs or missiles dropping from planes though; not when they wouldn't be here during an attack. Now was not the moment to ask, however.

"Thank you," Gavril replied. "Anything you can do is more than we would have otherwise."

It was a quick, efficient meal with little time for other pleasantries, but that didn't mean Trisha was inattentive to the people around them. A couple of Drachman government officials had dined with them, and former President Gurina's wife, as the head of household. What she did not see however, was anyone else who might be related to Gavril.  
In the chaos and exodus that followed dinner, she hung back just a moment, so that she found herself walking next to him. It was a sign of trust that there were no guards around him within the house itself.

He gave her a curious look, and smiled. "You have that inquisitive look."

That gave her a moment's pause. "Which look?"

"The one that says you are brimming with questions and you're confident you can dig the answers out of anyone or anything. I've never forgotten it."

She smiled, but did not blush as she might have years before. "I know we haven't spoken in a while, but I heard you got married. I know it's a personal question, but where is your wife?" Was she safe, hidden elsewhere? Captive? There had been no word on her in any of the news intelligence had dug up, which she found strange.

The bit of humor in his eyes vanished, and he looked almost immediately older, as if there was a heavy weight there. Not that he didn't already look older. The passage of years had been hard on him. Despite the fact they were almost precisely the same age, he looked older. "We are… not together, at the moment," he said vaguely. "I am apparently a better politician than I am a husband… or a father."

Her heart ached for him; there was remorse in his voice and he didn't seem to mind sharing it. "You have children?"

"A daughter, Amylla. She's five. I haven't seen her in six months."

"When did you separate?"

"Two years, ten months, and fourteen days ago."

"Forgive my impertinence, but it sounds like you're still in love."

Gavril nodded. "As much as the day we married, but… it came down to career or family, and Darya made that decision for both of us." He stopped walking, and the group ahead of them didn't seem to notice. "I was just trying to make Drachma the best place it could be; the best place to raise a family…to be a family… but, I wasn't home enough. Drachma and duty, and it cost me the two people I love most."

Trisha shook her head. No, she couldn't leave this alone. "I know I don't know your wife, and I have no idea what kind of a husband you are, but this defeatist attitude does not match hot-blood I met up here over fifteen years ago, or the man we've been hearing on your television broadcasts. It's possible to make it work, family and duty. I should know, my family has been doing it for three generations. Protecting your country and having a family, it's rough, but it can be done."  
Gavril looked thoughtful. "How many children do you two have?"

"Three. The oldest is thirteen and the youngest is five."

His eyebrows rose. "Forgive _my_ impertinence, but you don't look like you've had three children."

"My work _and_ my family keep me on my toes." Trisha grinned as they started walking again. If they fell behind too much, it would be noticed. "So… where do they live?"

"Not far from the Amestrian border, actually," Gavril admitted. "Little town named Bolka, about three hours north of the border not too far from where Amestris and Creta meet up. They're thankfully well away from any of the major fighting going on right now. I was supposed to go visit them at the first of the year."

Obviously that hadn't happened. "They can't possibly blame you for getting caught up in a government coup like this."

"Oh, Darya might." He sounded resigned. "I just wish I had a way to make sure they were all right…to let them know I'm just trying to protect them, the only way I can."

"Write a letter." Trisha looked him in the eyes. "Write it before we come back for the next rescue run, and I'll take it home, and we'll see if we can get someone to sneak it across the border for you. I can't make promises…but I can try."

For several seconds, he just stared at her, as if he could not believe the offer. "Thank you. I—I will do that."

"Good. If they matter that much to you; find a way to make it work. If you can run a rebelling government in exile, I'm sure you can figure out how to save your marriage."

* * *

When the plane had left, quickly and dramatically, with its first round of passengers, Cal asked Ted to take him and Roy on a nighttime tour of the city, primarily the walls, so they could see what they could do to help the Mihalov government, without openly helping the Mihalov government.

He didn't give much thought to the fact that Ted invited along the young woman that had already been introduced to him as Anika Marskaya, the youngest child of the family who was helping them. Not that he could call the feisty blond woman a child. She had as much presence as her brothers and, with her rifle securely worn with an air of relaxed attention, she reminded Cal a bit of Riza Hawkeye Mustang in her prime.

Ted's team of alchemists had already done a lot to help fortify the city. Secure hiding places, hidden emergency exists in the walls that could be activated with clever catches, but were invisible unless you knew where to find them; reinforced walls and even roofs of many of the buildings. Even glass windows had been hardened to be more blast resistant. There was even a small emergency tunnel—just completed—that led out beyond the city walls and into the mountains. Not that a mass exodus would be possible, but it was available as a last resort.

Cal admired the work as they finished their circuit of the city, having stopped just long enough for Cal to create a few holes in the water main outside the city that the Zinoveks had already cut off, causing it to leak steadily out above ground into the middle of the encampment, and for Roy to get enough of a view from the top of the wall to transmute the corner of what appeared to be the mess tent on fire, and melt the tires of several trucks.

Sometimes it was the little things.

What Cal did that would be much more useful to the city, was locate a natural aquifer deep below the city, and with Ted and Roy's help, create series of wells through the main part of town, on street corners.

"I admit, I'm impressed with what you've done here in such a short time, Proteus," Cal complimented Ted when they were done. "You did this to the Estate too, I take it."

Ted nodded. "We reinforced and altered almost every inch of the place. It should stand up to almost anything except a direct hit, and even that should have minimized damage and give people time to get out. Our primary concern was survival and saving lives more than the actual buildings."

"No, that's as it should be." Cal nodded. "This is well executed and not insane. I'm impressed."

"Were you expecting insanity?"

"Coming from you? I've learned to expect the unexpected."

There was just a moment, a flicker of eye contact between Ted and Anika, and he knew he had just walked right into some of Ted's crazy.

"Okay, what is it?"

Ted did not smile, but he didn't try to hedge either. "General Marskaya is one of several political prisoners being held in prison in Petrayevka. Mihalov's intelligence has identified the building and block. It's where they generally keep their maximum-security prisoners."

He knew where this was going. "And you have some plan to sneak into Petrayevka and rescue the General."

" _And_ possibly blow some stuff up on the way out," Ted nodded. "I only need three people."

" _You_ need."

"A small team will be best able to sneak in and out of the city, and I've thought it all out as to who to take for maximum effectiveness and the greatest chance of success," Ted replied vehemently. "My team is done here and going home. You'll have all of them if you need more alchemists. I'll go, and Anika here," he gestured her way, "is one hell

of a sniper. Also, she knows the city intimately since she lived and worked there, and it's her father we're rescuing."

"I get why she's going. Who else do you need?" Though from what Ted had said about blowing things up, he already had a guess.

"I need Firestorm." He looked at Roy, who also did not look surprised, but did look wary. "We're going to need a lot of finesse to pick locks, blow coded doors, lots of things. You and I have the best chance."

"What did you want to blow up then?" Roy asked what Cal was thinking.

Now, Ted grinned. "Intelligence has also located the airfield for the Drachman planes. The field is outside the city, just to the southwest, in the only area large and flat enough to allow for landing and take-off. It's also right where they've been building them. I can't be sure all the parts are manufactured there, but we know there are old factories, so it looks like at least some of them are. Between Firestorm and I, we should be able to wreak absolute havoc and take Drachma out of the sky—at least temporarily. It's a strike that would keep them on their side of the border if nothing else."

A strike that would also swing things back in the favor of the government here in Karmatsk, because the enemy would be unable to hold weapons literally over their heads. It would also free a lot of important political figures that weren't supposed to be Amestris' problem. Sending in two State Alchemists and a Drachman sharpshooter was not a bad special team either. It shouldn't be too hard for three people to get into a city that was not made of walls, and had multiple streets running in and out of it. If they went in plain-clothes and left their watches behind, there would be nothing to identify them as Amestrian as long as they didn't talk much.

"How will you get back out of the city?"

"Firestorm and I will be the diversion," Ted admitted. "We'll split off from the rescued team once we're out of the prison. Anika and her father will lead everyone out of the city and then make their way to the estate. Firestorm and I will go to the air field and wreak havoc, then vanish into the wilderness and make our way back South. There's enough chaos in Drachma right now it shouldn't be too hard to get lost in the wilds for a bit. At least enough to avoid capture before we can get back to the border."

He sounded very confident about this plan. Of course, Ted always did; he was a lot like his namesake that way. Still, it probably had a better chance of succeeding than his off-the-cuff raid into the Imperial City and breaking into the Palace had been with much less planning.

Cal looked at Roy. "What do you think?"

"I think my wife is going to kill me." Roy looked at Anika, whose face was surprisingly still. No sign of wasted emotion there, though it was her father's freedom at stake.

Cal had just risked hundreds of lives to pull his daughter out of Drachma. Could he really deny this girl a chance to save her father? "I want to see the details," he said firmly, "But… I'm willing to consider it, presuming you leave your State watches with me so you can't be identified if you're caught."

"I've got all the details back at the estate." Ted started moving. "We'll show you everything."

* * *

It was late. Everyone had gone home, or back to wherever they were staying. James had come home from Headquarters, and Krista had already put Aithne to bed. After assuring them both that she was fine for the evening, Sara managed to get herself into her pajamas, going with a pull-over nightgown that was warm and soft and did not require messing with pant legs, and then settled into bed, using pillows as a backrest as she picked up one of the paperback novels her mother had left her for entertainment.

She was more in the mood for a book tonight. Tomorrow she would watch at least one of Ian's movies.

The luxury of lying in bed with a book in her hand was something she had never thought to enjoy again.

She was well into the third chapter when the phone beside the bed—the line she had been told was an unlisted number directly to the President—began to ring. Startled, she considered for a moment before picking it up. "Hello, Heimler residence."

"Hey, Belle," Franz's voice came across the line clearly. He sounded tired. "I was hoping you would pick up."

"Well, I'm clever that way," she commented teasingly. "James said you were still hard at work. Does this call mean I shouldn't wait up for you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm still waiting on a critical report." Which meant, she presumed, an update from Trisha or Cal about how the extraction was going. Naturally he couldn't say that, even on a private line.

"I understand. Don't worry, I've got a book to keep me company. I'll be here when you get home."

"A fact that still amazes me," Franz replied, his tone softening. "I don't know when I'll be home, but I love you, Belle."

She felt a little flutter inside hearing those words again, even over a phone. Sara would never tire of them. "I love you, too."


	25. Chapter 25

**January 24** **th** **, 1990**

There were many reasons in his life why Ian Elric had woken up bleary-eyed from a night of next to no sleep, though last night was possibly one of the most incredible. The barn had called to tell Bonnie that her horse was in labor just as they were arriving home from dinner, and they had left the mail on the table, changed into barn appropriate clothes, and run right back out into the cold to the stables.

It had been a very long night, but Ian had found it fascinating as he sat watch with Bonnie and the veterinarian, Nell Collings. Horse birth was nothing like human birth, at least what he knew about either. Rosie didn't cry, or complain, or curse the stallion who bred with her. It was quiet in the barn, and outside of the occasional snort from another horse sleeping in a nearby stall, there wasn't much going on. In fact, it was peaceful and surprisingly warm in the barn, and aside from running out for coffee for all three of them after midnight, there was little enough to do but watch, even right up to the end, as Rosie gave birth without any assistance at all, and began to lick her baby clean.

In the end, the baby proved to be a handsome little colt who looked like a slightly darker chestnut than his mother, with two white socks on the front, and a star on his forehead. It was only when Rosie had licked his whole body clean and the baby had wobbled to his feet that Bonnie entered the stall with a warm towel, and worked on helping wipe the baby fully dry. His little tail flicked back and forth as he ate greedily.

Ian couldn't stop smiling. "Quite the appetite there."

"He eats like you," Bonnie chuckled. "We're not naming him after you though."

"That's fine by me. What _are_ you going to call him?"

"I'm not really sure yet," Bonnie admitted as she finished wiping him while Rosie looked on. "We need to get to know him a little better first, don't you think?"

"That's a lot more forethought than I think most parents give in naming their children," he pointed out. "Though I guess it's probably a good thing people don't usually name their children _directly_ after their defining characteristics." Names might have meanings, but at least they were less obvious.

"Usually." Bonnie stroked Rosie's nose. "We'll give him a few days. For now, he needs to finish his meal and spend time with his mama."

"Who looks very good," the veterinarian said as she finished her inspection of Rosie. "We could all wish we had births as easy as this one."

"Do you have kids?" Bonnie asked curiously.

Collings nodded as she stopped by Rosie's head, rubbing her neck. "Two, and neither one of them came out as easily as this little fellow. I can't say I was this dignified about it either, but then most women will tell you the same. Well, there's not much else to do here for the night. If you like, I'll stay around a bit longer, but I suspect you've both got early mornings ahead."

She was right, of course, and Ian had been afraid Bonnie would refuse to leave, but he was grateful his wife was reasonable. By the time they passed out back at home, it was almost four in the morning.

So getting up to his alarm at seven was both a demonic experience, and yet not one Ian regretted as he put the coffee on. He was just grateful neither one of them had an _early_ call that morning.

It was then that he spotted the mail he had left in a careless pile on the counter the night before in their hurry to rush back out the door. He picked it up, flipping through them for anything interesting: bill, bill, political ad, grocery coupons. His hand stopped dead over the last envelope however, when he saw the familiar AFA logo at the top. For just a moment, his heart skipped, and he tried to will himself to calm as he opened the envelope. If it was here, now, he knew what it meant. Still, it was all he could do to get the envelope open and read the letter. He didn't even read the whole thing, but skipped down to the critical lines.

— _inform you that you have been nominated for best actor in a leading role for your work in Golden Warrior—_

His whoop of excitement must have been louder than he thought, because seconds later Bonnie scrambled out of the bedroom, looking bleary-eyed, her red-brown hair a tousled mess. "What? What is it, Ian?"

He turned around and grabbed her up in a hug that brought her off the floor. Then, setting his very confused wife down, Ian grinned. "I'm nominated!"

Bonnie's eyes went wide, and realization slowly dawned. "Ian, that's wonderful!" She hugged him back this time with much more enthusiasm, then she grinned. " _When_ you win, we can put it on the shelf with mine."

* * *

Gloria did not mean to overhear the conversation between Trisha and Roy, but it was hard not to when Trisha gasped a loud "What do you mean _you're not coming?"_ just as Gloria approached the plane with her one suitcase stuffed tight, and Alexei behind her with his bag. The two State Alchemists were standing off to one side, and Roy looked apologetic, and Trisha almost apoplectic.

"We've been assigned another mission," he explained, hands up defensively. "You'll have to take it up with Whitewater. Proteus and I will be back a little later than planned."

"Ted is in on this?" Trisha was slowly turning an incredible shade of fuchsia. "Why am I not surprised in the least? Fine. Don't tell me. I'll pry it out of Whitewater later, but you'd better come home in one piece, Mustang, or I'll make you wish you had."

"Of course, dear." Roy smiled. "I love you, too."

Gloria didn't hear any more as she got onto the plane, but she caught Alexei's eye, and her fiancé was grinning. "What's so funny?"

"Just making notes about how not to upset the ladies of your family," he said softly into her ear as they put their bags in the storage area and moved to take seats near the front of the main cargo area, where they could sort of sea out the front cockpit windows. It was almost dawn, and with the plane facing south-west, having turned around for take-off, the view was still deep violet. "I wonder how we're going to get off the ground without being seen."

"The same way they did last night," Rex Neil grinned, flexing his fingers as he took one last stretch, then sat down in one of the seats and started to strap in between Felix Tringham and Vastillia Kratz. Caroline Flynn had chosen a seat with a little space, and had her nose buried in a notepad, where she was scribbling away. "As far as our Drachman friends know, it's been thick and foggy all night. You'll see when we fly over."

Well that sounded like a useful trick. "Got your camera ready then?" Gloria asked Alexei, who was wearing it around his neck.

"Of course." He finished strapping in, then helped her with her last strap. "The first images taken from the air; how would I miss that opportunity?"

"You wouldn't, of course." Gloria squeezed his hand, and tried to be more excited than nervous about flight. It would only be another few minutes until they were airborne, and hopefully safely out of reach of the tanks outside the walls.

Lieutenant Rothschild was already in the co-pilot's chair, since Trisha would be flying them out for the first leg back. A minute later and her father joined them, sitting down on the other side of Gloria, and strapping in. He looked just a bit pale, and she decided now was not the time to ask about the discussion she had heard outside. It had been a long night, and no one had really slept. While she hadn't seen the wound on his arm, she knew he had been injured a few days ago, and that he was worried about Charlie. He had told her last night about her brother losing his hand. It was a horrible thing, and Gloria was worried about her little brother, too. Still, there was nothing she could do now except go home and be there for him. She felt a sense of guilt, leaving now, as if she were abandoning Mihalov and his people. She knew that was not the case, and it was best for them to leave, but she would still miss it. Coming back to visit was definitely on her itinerary, when the country was stable again.

Trisha joined them, looking much more her normal skin tone. "All right everyone. Strapped in?" she asked, a little brusquely; all business. She nodded at everyone's murmurs of consent. "Good. Stay strapped unless I tell you it's okay to get up and move. As long as the air isn't too turbulent, there will be a little time where you can get up, stretch, look out windows, and indulge curiosity." With that, she went into the cockpit area, sat down, and strapped in.

"Why aren't Ted and Roy coming with us?" Gloria finally dared to whisper to her father as the engines revved a bit louder and the plane began to move.

He looked at her, and shrugged. "They've got another mission to go on. Given the two of them, I'm sure we'll get quite the story later."

* * *

"Is leaving in daylight really the best idea?" Roy whispered as he tried not to get pricked by the huge thorns in the bushes around them as they walked towards a gate Ted had assured him would lead them outside the city without being seen by Drachmans.

"The entire camp is wrapped in fog," Ted pointed out as he put his hands to the wall, located some kind of switch, and the bricks shifted slightly. A moment later, he opened the wall and revealed a passage that ran through it. "With everyone trying to figure out where that plane sound is coming from, they'll be looking up, not down. Mihalov said he was able to get word to his people on the main road and we can borrow a vehicle to drive back to Petrayevka."

"As long as we can get to them."

"It'll be fine. This is how we snuck in, too, though we used an older gate." Ted led the way down the tunnel, and Roy felt a moment of mild tension as Anika closed the one behind them and they were enveloped in a cave of darkness. Ted didn't seem to notice. "I made this one as a model off the old one two days ago. It comes out along a really rocky area that's fairly flat, but dotted with brambles, so it's hard to patrol and there's nowhere good for camping, and cars have no hope of driving through it, so it made a great emergency exit. Ah, here we go."

There was another click, and suddenly vision returned as light filtered in from just a few feet in front of him.

Before long they were standing in another awning of brambles, and Ted had closed the wall behind them. Once again, it looked invisible.

"Maybe you should consider masonry as a career," Roy suggested.

"Only when I get bored with adventuring," Ted quipped, grinning broadly. "Come on, this way."

They had come out of the city at a north-westerly direction, which meant they needed to creep around southward in order to meet up with Mihalov's men who, Roy had been told, would also be looking for them so they could meet up. The password was _white tiger._ Roy had been told it was not only an animal at the zoo where Anika had worked, but also her father's military nickname for his ferocity and cunning.

If nothing else, that made it easy to remember.

While it felt like forever, Roy's watch assured him that it was only about an hour of creeping through the thick mist and twisting brambles and rocks before they came out suddenly into bright daylight and clear skies.

Ted looked around, and nodded when his eyes lit on a twisted tree. "Yep, this is it," he said softly. "They're supposed to meet us here and escort us in."

"How long do we need to wait?" Anika spoke for the first time since they had left the house.

Ted glanced at the time. "Just another few minutes if they're on time too."

Presuming they weren't spotted by the wrong patrol, or ambushed. Not that Roy was concerned about taking them out. He'd vaporize anything that got in the way if necessary, but it would draw a lot of attention they really didn't want.

Ten minutes later, two soldiers walked out of the trees. As they got closer, they stopped. :What sound do we hear?: a woman's voice called out cautiously.

:The roar of the white tiger,: Anika replied clearly.

They soldiers continued forward until they all met under the tree.

:We received the message,: the woman, who was apparently the ranking officer, informed them. :We have a small civilian car that was used, given our rather unusual circumstances, to bring some of our supplies. It is no longer needed, but will be inconspicuous going into the city. We have filled it with gas. Do you have money for the trip?:

Anika nodded again. Roy knew that Mihalov himself, was bankrolling part of the trip, and had given her plenty for gas, food, and other supplies they might need to purchase. :We are supplied.:

:Good. This way.:

The rest of the trek was surprisingly short, as they came to the line and were let through with a few short words from the officer. In relatively short order they had been brought to the car which, Roy was amused to see, really was a little four-door family car painted a deep midnight blue that he had seen on the streets a few times already on this trip so apparently it was not an uncommon color either. That was good, since they definitely didn't want to stand out.

:Who's driving?: Roy asked, trying to remember to speak only in Drachman. It was likely to be that way for several days, so he might as well get in some practice. He was fairly rusty.

:Anika is,: Ted grinned as she went around to the driver's side, and he opened the front passenger door. :She's the only one of us with a Drachman driver's license.:

:Won't it get us caught if they identify her?: Roy asked with concern as he got in the back seat.

Anika smiled. :Oh, no. My real one is at home with my brothers. This is a very good fake.:

:Do I want to know why you have a fake ID?:

:I transmuted it,: Ted admitted as they buckled in and Anika started the car. :It wasn't too hard to copy her old one and make a simple change to the name and birth date.:

:Then why didn't you just transmute IDs for us too, genius?: Roy asked. It seemed like a logical next step.

:It was much easier to transmute a copy of an existing card.: Ted explained. :I didn't have an ID for me, or you. Just roll with it, okay?:

:Sure, but that's going to make our getaway later difficult if we get pulled over on back roads on our way out of Petrayevka.:

:I'll come up with something.:

Roy sighed. :Of course you will.:

* * *

Franz was fairly certain he had drained the coffee pot in his office at least twice by himself in the past two days. He had been right to tell Sara not to wait up for him, because he hadn't made it home the night before at all. Now it was mid-afternoon and he was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong with the mission. Not that he had expected to hear anything through radio channels while they were still in a dangerous position, and a lack of reports in the Drachman news made it fairly clear that they probably hadn't been shot down. Surely Savahin would be bragging about that if it happened, or at least using an enemy plane over his country to his advantage.

Still, they were waiting for some word that the Ambassadors had been safely removed from Karmatsk, even if they weren't out of Drachma yet, and that the rest of their men in that area were on the way home. The soldiers holding to the south were leading a slow, stately retreat that made them look like they were limping out. It had kept them from further attack. The injured had already made it back to the train and were on their way south.

Franz stood, stretched, and stifled a yawn before going over to the coffee pot on the counter; grateful he did not have to deal with the scramble in the other room to get a fresh cup. There were a few perks to the job, even if dinner last night had been the last two stale donuts in the box from outside. Breakfast had been a bagel with cream cheese and blueberry spread, and only because one of his aides had picked it up on her way to work and almost forced it on him.

Lunch still hadn't happened, and he was beginning to wonder what he would do for dinner. He could request something brought up, or there were still snacks in the break corner of the office outside. If word did not come, he wouldn't be home tonight either.

He returned to his desk, sat down, and finished the paperwork that had been in front of him, putting the request into his out box in the corner. Underneath that, the morning's papers still laid strewn across the desk, a civilian mess of reporting and questions about what was going on in Drachma. What was the strategy? Queries and theories about Sara's return. While most of that press was still favorable, and had dropped to a minimum since she had so far refused a direct interview during initial recovery, there were still skeptics and naysayers. Sara insisted they didn't bother her, but they certainly bothered him. Calls from the press to his office now got handed to Second Lieutenant Brickman, and she had the same response for each one of them. They weren't going to get anything else until Sara was ready to speak with the press, and she would contact whom she decided to speak to. The President had no comment until such time outside of the official military statements released to the public.

Franz's stomach twisted sourly. He shoved the papers aside, and reached for the next item of business on his desk. Just because there was a lot going on did not mean that the everyday and internal needs of the military could go unanswered.

He was half way through reading the most boring report on the tank parts inventory when someone knocked on the door.

"Enter," he called out.

Colonel Barnes poked his head in the door. "President Heimler, General Fischer is on the radio."

Franz had to refrain from bolting out of his chair. Finally! "On my way." He followed Barnes out the door and took the receiver to the radio from the operator. "Whitewater, Report."

"Good to hear from you too, Sir," Cal's voice crackled over the line. "Just wanted to report that both geese are at the nesting site, and papa goose will be heading home shortly."

Both geese. That meant they had gotten all Cretans and Amestrians out of Karmatsk successfully, and to the Marskaya Estate. If they were leaving soon, that meant that refueling was already complete. "Glad to hear it. The pond is quiet without them. Anything else?"

There was a moment of suspicious silence. At least, from Cal it was suspicious. "We've got a couple of goslings coming along behind," he said finally. "The story can wait for drinks."

"With you, anything can wait for drinks." Franz snorted.

"If you say so, Sir." Cal chuckled. "Any new orders?"

"No. Proceed as we discussed."

"Yes, Sir."

All that waiting for one very brief conversation. Franz was definitely curious as to which two goslings had been given some other task to do before coming home. Cal would have said if they weren't also heading home.

Now Franz just needed to get the rest of his people out of Drachma without starting a bigger international incident, and update the Assembly—however vaguely—that things were going according to plan, and work up a press statement so it was ready to go as soon as they arrived.

It wasn't like he didn't have time. They would be landing—weather willing—in just a few hours.

"Excuse me, Sir."

Franz turned. It was First Lieutenant Armstrong-Evans. He didn't even remember how she was related to Alex, but she was as pretty and blond as every other member of the family Franz had ever met. She had only been on his staff for a few months, but she was a diligent and detail-oriented person. She was also the quietest Armstrong relative he had ever met, which made her almost entirely normal in comparison. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"The Assembly is discussing border security in half an hour. They just called. They would like your input, Sir."

So much for time. "Are they still on the phone, Evans?"

"No, Sir."

"Call them back and tell them I'll be right down." He headed for his office to grab his uniform jacket, which had been hanging on the back of his chair since the day before. "And after that, make sure there's creamer in my office." If he had to live off the stuff, it didn't all have to be dark sludge.

* * *

There was something otherworldly about flying, Cal had decided, that he wasn't sure he liked. That was the strange feeling that he had stepped out of sync with time with the rest of the world, as they hung above it in the vast open sky, only to drop to the earth in a few scant hours, hundreds of miles from where they had started. No watching the landscape change around them; no weather while they were above the clouds. It was another world entirely in the sky.

Being sent off to war, or even a defensive mission like the one they had just been on, was a thing of weeks, or months, with almost as much time to get home as to get out there. Yet now, within less than a week, Cal had hopped from a combat front, to an estate, to a city hundreds of miles north, and back again, and was now on his way home to Central.

The mission that had stalled for weeks had been accomplished in a few short days, with no more casualties, all due to one incredible piece of technology, and two people trained to fly it.

The number of people had been rearranged for priority once they hit the ground at the Marskaya estate, and Cal found himself on the first flight back to Central, along with both Ambassadors, all four of the remaining Cretan staff and security, and the most critical Amestrian staff, but also Gloria and Alexei. The rest of the State Alchemists, and the Security team from the Amestrian Embassy. It was a tight flight, but not one that over-loaded the carrying capacity of the plane.

Whisper and the Lieutenant were up front. Rothschild was flying this leg, while Trisha slept. She would then fly them back to pick up the second run. By midday tomorrow, everyone would be safely back in Amestris.

What felt wrong, Cal realized, was the fact that he had sent his severely wounded son home on a train, and he was going to beat him back home by several days. It shouldn't be possible, but it was. Realizing that just made him feel older.

He had no idea if his family even knew he was arriving home tonight. It depended on what the military had decided to tell them. Or, at least, what Franz Heimler had decided to tell them.

What he did know, from Trisha, was that Alphonse and Elicia –along with Edward and Winry—had been in Central for most of the month, helping out as they could where they were needed most. That did not surprise him: it was just what the Elrics did; they took care of their own.

It was dark, and well after sensible dinner time, when Rothschild announced that they were coming in for a landing over Central.

Cal just shook his head, and watched in amusement as Gloria and Alexei finished oohing over the view out the few windows on the plane, and taking pictures, and got back in their seats and strapped in before the descent. Cal would just be glad to be back on the ground. His stomach did not like the up and down, even with a landing as smooth as he had been assured all of theirs had been so far.

Central did not look all that different from Drachma at first glance, he thought, when he was finally able to not-quite-stumble out of the plane and back onto the solid earth. It had clearly been snowing here too, and there were several inches of snow on the ground more than when he had last seen it.

It was not an airfield really, he realized, but a military vehicle depot outside of town. Which meant this was probably where they had been hiding the plane since Xing.  
Lined up in the parking lot were several official looking government cars, and several figures bundled in coats were already moving towards the plane. At a glance, Cal recognized Franz Heimler himself, a woman who looked like the Cretan Ambassador to Amestris—probably coming to see her colleague—a couple of members of Franz' security team, and a woman he would recognize anywhere.

"Alyse." Cal enfolded his wife in a tight hug, which she returned with equal force, her arms creating a tight, warm circle where for a moment, the world felt right again. "Fancy seeing you in a place like this."

"I could say the same thing." She smiled up at him. "All Franz told me was that you were coming home and that he was sending a car."

"Does this mean I'm done for the night?" Cal looked over at Franz, who was making introductions and directing people in various directions.

It took a minute, but Franz turned to look at him. The President looked harried, but he nodded. "For tonight. I'm afraid I'll need you in the office in the morning. The Assembly wants to speak with the Ambassadors directly. We'll be debriefing you and the other alchemists in the morning. First though, you want to tell me what harebrained mission my son-in-law and nephew have run off on?"

Ah, yes. Cal braced himself. "They're sneaking into Petrayevka with Anika Marskaya to bust the General and his colleagues out of prison. After that, Proteus and Firestorm are making a raid on the airfield south of the city. Mihalov's intelligence located both, and they're hoping to take out the factories and the planes under manufacture, and as many sitting on the ground as possible."

Franz's expression tightened. "Let's keep this classified for now. Understood?"

"Oh, do I ever."

With that, he was dismissed. Within minutes everyone except for three mechanics clearly there to help maintain the plane was being bundled into the otherwise unremarkable government cars, leaving only four of them for the last car: Alyse, himself, Gloria, and Alexei. "Guess you're staying with us tonight," Cal commented, though he smiled.

"Unless you've got somewhere else you'd like to go?"

Gloria shook her head, and smiled. "No, Dad. Home sounds great."

"Good. Let's go then. It's not much warmer here than it was up North."

* * *

The rest of the evening passed in a rush. The government car dropped them home, and since not even Alyse had eaten, Cal went back out to pick up Aerugean from the little shop a couple of blocks away. They all ate dinner, and then—leaving Gloria and Alexei talking over hot tea in the living room—Cal practically dragged his wife upstairs.

Practically, because he didn't really have to try very hard. She almost led him, and after he had taken a long hot shower that warmed him through and loosened muscles stiff from sitting for hours and the jostling of the plane, he let himself be distracted in bed by his beautiful Alyse.

Afterwards, he lay on his back, his head resting on a pillow. Alyse lay beside him, propped up on one elbow.

"What's the matter?" she asked finally. "You seem distracted, and not by me."

"I've been wondering that myself," Cal admitted, staring up at the ceiling. She was the first person to ask him, and he thought, she might understand the thoughts that had plagued him the past several weeks, but especially the last couple of days. "I think it's that something feels off, about this whole mission, and not just because Charlie got hurt." Though that was certainly part of it. "This… this isn't how we do things. At least, not before. When Aerugo had a coup and they were threatening our people and theirs, we charged in and fixed things. When Xing had a coup, we charged in and fixed things. It was clear cut, and it was an open, honest fight, and we knew what we had to do, and we did it. When Drachma invaded, we knew how to respond, with full force."

"This was different. It wasn't a State Alchemist mission. Those are pretty straight forward to. We go in when regular soldiers aren't the right solution. Except this time, we sent in soldiers, and were told to try not to fight them. We got stuck in a situation we couldn't just blast through, and when we started to make headway, the enemy dropped a bomb on our heads from the sky."

"You don't like planes, do you?"

"Well, no, and I'm not sure if it's because I don't like the idea of my enemies coming out of the sky and out of range, or if I'm just an old fart who doesn't like change because it's not what I knew."

"You like things uncomplicated. Something's wrong, there's a villain, you charge in and play hero." Alyse's hand played idly with the curls on his head.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling. "True. We're also not used to being outmatched. For decades we were the superior military force on this side of the desert." He wasn't about to claim they could have beat Xing if the entire Empire had come after them. He knew better. "After Drachma invaded, we've never really regained the full numbers and strength we had, but it wasn't necessary."

"So now, you're worried that if we leave Drachma alone, they won't leave us alone."

That wasn't quite it, or was it? "I'm not optimistic about Mihalov's chances. Let's put it that way." As much as Cal wanted to believe that the better choice would win, in Drachma that rarely seemed to be the case. "They're good folks, and I want them to win this one, but Savahin… hostages, death threats, dropping bombs from the sky on people who just want to retrieve their own. He might be crazy. He's definitely dangerous, and unpredictable. If he's plotted this long to take over Drachma, and he's willing to just drop bombs on us, than I don't trust him to stay inside his own borders, even if he does manage to subdue all of Drachma."

"Does anyone else in government or the military share this opinion?"

"I don't know." Cal opened his eyes. If he craned his neck a little, he could just see her face. "I'll find out tomorrow. I think I have to convince them that he's a legitimate threat to us, even if he's left us alone to retreat. It's only because he thinks we've been defeated. Showing throat to a guy like this though, it's like rolling over for a rabid wolf. You give him what he wants, and you still might get your throat ripped out."

Alyse blanched. "That's…graphic."

"Sorry." He reached out, clasping her free hand in his. "It's been a pretty morbid couple of weeks. I just hope us getting out of Drachma really will be the end of it." More than that though, he wished he could believe it.

 **January 25** **th** **, 1990**

For a moment, Sara wasn't sure what had awakened her. The room was dark, but she did not have the fast-beating heart or light sweat that normally came with suddenly coming out of one of her nightmares. So, she hadn't been having one of those.

She lay in the dark, seeing only where the dim blue light of the moon cast rectangles across the bed. Franz' half was still empty. The clock on the wall, barely visible, ticked away past two in the morning.

Booted footsteps outside the bedroom told her what she needed to know. Someone was downstairs and awake. They seemed to be in the living room or kitchen, and she thought she recognized the tread. Franz had come home.

The steps moved away, and she heard the click of the refrigerator door opening, then closing. Then boots again, which vanished, muffled by carpet; the living room, then. Which meant he probably wasn't coming straight to bed.

Curiosity got the better of her. Carefully, slowly, she got to her feet and, foregoing her frustrating crutches, she limped softly to the door, keeping one hand on the end of the bed, then on the dresser by the door as she opened it. The door, well oiled, crept open without so much as a creak.

From there, Sara could see past the entry and into the living room. The couch—which faced towards the recliners, the fireplace, and past that, the dining room to one side, and the kitchen to the other—had its back to her, and she could see the back of Franz's head above it as he eased heavily into the cushions and kicked his feet—now boot free—up onto the coffee table, just a few inches from a full plate of leftovers from dinner; cold chicken, pasta salad, and a slice of the cheesecake her father had brought over earlier that day. There was a sigh, and then Franz tipped up a bottle and took a drink, and then for a moment he went still, letting his head loll back, eyes closed.

Sara felt a wistful ache. Was this what his nights had been like since her death? He looked lost and alone. Well, he wasn't alone anymore. "Is this a private feast?" she asked softly into the silence.

Startled, Franz sat up, his head whipped around so fast his glasses slid down his nose. "Belle… did I wake you?"

"I don't sleep very heavily these days," she reminded him, though Sara supposed that was not entirely true. She had slept a lot in the hospital, partially by virtue of strong medication, to help her heal and restore her body's energy. The past couple of days she hadn't been using anything additional to sleep, and she had finished the rounds of antibiotics they had been giving her at the hospital before she left. All she had now were some—admittedly potent—pain medications she could take for her knee as needed. She preferred not to if she could avoid it. "So, can I join you?"

"Well, yeah." Franz looked slightly flustered.

"Don't get up. I can make it on my own." With that, she hobbled slowly across the entry and put a hand on the couch, which gave her the balance she needed to come around and settle herself down beside him.

Franz watched nervously the entire time; clearly poised to leap to his feet should she go over.

"See, I'm all grown up and walking on my own." Sara teased him as she nestled in closer to his side and kissed his cheek. "So, what are we drinking this evening?"

"We?" He gave her a funny look, then shrugged. "It's just a low-point Aerugean beer. Your son-in-law recommended it." He held it out, and Sara sniffed.

She couldn't remember the last time she had smelled alcohol that wasn't harsh and unpleasant. Except the wine at the house of the man she would rather forget. Yegor; Valhov. It didn't matter now that he was dead. Even that had been sharp and Drachman made. "No, thank you," she shook her head. "But beer and dinner at this hour? Are we in our twenties?"

"I wish." Franz smiled weakly. "I don't normally eat a full meal this late," he added, looking slightly embarrassed. "I missed dinner…and lunch."

"That explains this." Sara reached out and picked up Franz' plate from the table. She couldn't help a sly smile. "Should I feed you?"

Franz snorted, sitting up just enough to put his beer down and take his plate. "I think I can feed my—oh." He paused, realizing what she was doing. "Wow, I'm rusty."  
Sara let him take the plate. "It's all right. I'm out of practice, and it's reassuring to know other women haven't been flirting with you while I'm gone." Okay, so maybe she was fishing a little. She knew that Franz hadn't fallen for anyone else, but that didn't mean women wouldn't have thrown themselves at the handsome President of the Military, powerful widower.

"Not many." His ears were turning a little red, even in the dim light from the windows and the small lamp beside them. "I considered dating…briefly," he admitted softly. "I just couldn't do it. All I did was compare them to you… and realize I was still completely, utterly, totally devoted to you, even if you weren't here."

"You know I already love you with all of my soul, right?" Sara asked, even as her throat tightened with emotion. "But I really like hearing it, so don't stop."

"You like that, huh?" he grinned.

"If it weren't two in the morning, and you hadn't eaten, and I could move faster than a turtle, we'd be in bed," Sara assured him. Perhaps the two things that were really straining her patience: the fact that her doctors had forbidden her to do alchemy until she was declared healthy enough to do so, and that despite feeling much better, her leg still made it very difficult for anything more intimate than cuddling and kissing. Not that she minded those in the slightest.

"I see. So, if I wolf this down and carry you gallantly back the bedroom we won't both pass out from exhaustion before things get interesting?"

"Well I won't, but I can't speak for you. You look exhausted. I know there's a couch in that office of yours. Don't you use it?"

"I might have dozed off at my desk a couple of times, but there hasn't been time." Franz began to eat.

Sara watched, patiently. There was no rush. "So, is there any news you can share with me today from work?"

"Well, the paperwork is complete. You're officially alive now."

"That's a relief."

"You're also now listed as missing in action and then rescued, which means that you are now on unpaid medical leave but you still have your commission."

"Unpaid?"

Franz swallowed a bite and smiled. "It would look horribly like favoritism if it were paid leave, particularly as we aren't asking for eight years of back pay."

"I suppose that would look greedy."

"It also means that if you choose to, you can come back to active duty when you're well. I mean, only if you want to, but you can make that decision."

"Would that be a conflict of interest if my husband is my highest ranked commanding officer?" That had been one of Riza Hawkeye's primary reasons for retiring when she had; her marriage to Roy would have made any assignment questionable. None of the other Presidents' wives in her lifetime had been military themselves, so it hadn't been an issue.

"That would depend on what you wanted to do. If you go back to training State Alchemists, what you're doing is an educational and supervisory job, and there's certainly no conflict of interest there."

"Unless we lead an alchemist coup of the government."

"You're not making this easy you know."

Sara's nose wrinkled a little as she grinned, feeling cheeky. "And you like it."

Franz paused long enough to lean over for a quick kiss. "Yeah, I do."

"Enough to tell me what happened with the mission to Karmatsk now that I apparently have my clearance back?"

For a moment he just stared at her blankly. Then he laughed and shook his head. "All this to pry information out of me?"

"No." Sara shook her head, sliding one hand up his arm and letting it rest on his shoulder. "I really would like to snuggle up with you for a few days, but I also want to know how our daughter is, and if she was able to pull off what over two-thousand Amestrian soldiers couldn't do."

Franz had finished his plate. He set it down and reached once more for his beverage. "There are no Amestrians or Cretans left in Karmatsk." He took a swig. "Tonight, Trisha brought home Fischer, the civilians, and the Ambassadors plus most of their staff. Tomorrow the rest of the staff and the State Alchemists that were up there will be home. Trisha's flying out again at dawn. I hope she's hard asleep by now in her own bed."

"How long until the units in retreat make it back to the border?"

"Three days, as long as they are allowed to retreat unmolested."

"Do you think that will happen?"

"It should." Franz frowned. "Savahin wants us out of Drachma so he can consolidate control and push back against the exiles. Unfortunately, I think we've done him a favor."  
Sara waited while he took another drink. "What do you mean?"

"Valhov would never have attacked Karmatsk outright with the Ambassadors there, and with notable civilians from other countries. It would have alienated us, turning Amestris, Creta, and all our allies against them."

It clicked, and Sara felt a sinking in her stomach. "When they find out our people have been rescued, there's nothing to keep Savahin from holding back."

Franz nodded somberly. "The secret of the plane will probably be out too. First the chase when we rescued you, and then the sounds of a plane taking off and landing in Karmatsk. If we're lucky, he'll think the government simply took one of its own when they escaped, but he has to know by now that no Drachman planes are missing. I think it's only a matter of time before it all comes out in the open. As long as all we've done is what we promised, the Assembly hopes he'll leave us alone and be content to stay within Drachma's borders."

"Do you think he'll stay there?"

"Again, the Assembly does." Franz finished the bottle. "Your father and Alphonse don't agree."

Which meant they knew something. It always meant they knew something, especially if they both agreed. "Why not?"

"Something about the other side of the gate." It sounded odd, coming out of Franz' mouth. It had been years since Sara had even thought about the other side of the gate, and the Truth between them. "The world they were in—the one Krista's father came through from—there was a war after Ed and Al left, but they saw the beginnings of what led to it while they were there. Ed said that… a charismatic leader led a people's revolt. The one they saw failed, but he found out later, from the letters he left, that the War happened, and it involved multiple continents and countries. They called it a second World War, as if one isn't hard enough to imagine. That's where they first saw planes, and rockets…" He shook his head. Sara knew that, as much as Franz had always believed her family's crazy stories, and even with his own daughter-in-law coming from blood from the other side, it was really hard to grasp. Sara found it much more believable now, somehow, after practically living another live for most of a decade, and that still in her own world.

She slipped the bottle out of Franz' hand, and set it on the table before wrapping both of her arms around him. "I remember him telling me a bit about that once. It's possible that Savahin could be the same kind of monster. Or… like you said, he might be content with just Drachma. It's still possible that he'll lose too, you know. This isn't Drachma's first explosive internal government change." She'd met political prisoners from the last three. "His depravities will get him ousted too, in time. There are some lovely cells in _Borsag_ with no view whatsoever."

Franz winced, and she felt immediately sorry she'd brought it up, even in jest. "I don't like the feeling that we're abandoning allies, even if staying out of their business is the safest and most tactically sound thing to do."

"From what I understand, this is exactly what Mihalov has asked of us." Sara had spent her time in the hospital not only plying family for information, but reading every public paper she could get her hands on to try and understand anything she could. It had frustrated her that hospital rooms did not all have televisions. That would have been extremely useful. "We've removed our people, making them no longer his responsibility, and Amestris has made it clear that we support the government we allied with, but aren't going to get in the way. That still legitimizes his claim. That means a lot in Drachma. It means you respect him, but also his right and ability to fight his own battles—their own battles." There was an entire chunk of the government up there after all. "What?"

Franz was looking at her oddly. "I didn't think of that," he admitted.

"It's a Drachman thing." Sara shrugged. "Their stories aren't big on heroic saviors. Most of their folktales involve people suffering through things on their own and becoming stronger. They save themselves alone, or by working together, but no one comes in to rescue them from others."

"That… explains a lot, actually."

"Nice to know all of my in-depth reconnaissance is useful for something." She hugged him a little tighter, fighting the yawn that slipped out anyway. "Maybe we should continue dissecting the Drachman mindset in the morning."

"I think that's a smart idea," Franz agreed. "Though you'll have to let go of my neck if I'm going to put my dishes in the sink first."

"I will, in a minute…" Sara looked up at him, feeling a little silly about how tired she was. "Do you think… you could gallantly carry me back to bed like you said?"

Franz smiled, and kissed her. "Anytime, my beloved."


	26. Chapter 26

**January 26, 1990  
**  
Sara was beginning to feel a little bit like a zoo attraction. Not that she minded the attention from her friends and family, and she appreciated that her parents and aunt and uncle had stayed in Central longer just to be with the family, and that Aldon and Cassie had come up to see her. Resembool had to be missing its mayor.

After she and Franz had gone to bed, he had been up and gone as soon as they awoke just a few short hours later and she hadn't seen him all day. Not that she expected to. Trisha should have the second—and last—flight of rescued people safely back on the ground today, and then they would be out of Drachma, and they could wait and see what came of things.

So Sara sat in state in the living room, enjoying the constant come-and-go of visitors as they had time, waiting for news. Not that she was expecting much before Franz got home. She just hoped he made it home before the middle of the night—or at all. She had seen more of him while she was in the hospital, though she knew that was just because the military hospital was only a few minutes from Headquarters, and Franz had been stealing time away from work he didn't have in order to be with her.

What amazed her was finding that she actually had some time to herself. After lunch, her father had gone to be nosy—as he called it—and Mom had gone with him. She wanted to check on Sara's replacement knee piece, which Coran and Gail had been working on for quite some time. It was a trick, Sara understood, to create a piece of auto-mail that would be entirely internal, and not easily accessible from the outside for maintenance, save for a couple of small ports. However, it had to work with the fact it was not connecting to the nerves, but working within the functional muscles, and replacing almost entirely bits of bone, and a couple of tendons.

Aldon and Cassie had gone out to have lunch with her parents and Callie. Ethan had come by right after lunch to check on her as her parents were leaving, and she had finally managed to convince him that she could stay alone for a little while. "I spent years in solitary confinement. I think I can spend a couple of hours reading a book in an easy chair."

Still, she was pleasantly surprised when, in the middle of the afternoon, guests arrived she had not yet seen, escorted by her daughter. "Welcome back," she grinned, hugging Trisha. "I'm glad to see your trip was… fruitful. Hello, Whitewater."

Cal Fischer—accompanied by Gloria, and the handsome young man with strongly Drachman features that had to be her fiancé—was right behind her. "Good to see you too, Twilight. Sorry I'm late to the party."

"Well, from what I understand, the traffic in Drachma was pretty terrible. Get over here," Sara demanded, insisting on hugging him. Cal looked briefly startled, but complied.

"It never really is a party without you, right?"

Cal chuckled, returning the hug with one of surprising warmth. "You got that right. Nice to know someone still remembers." He straightened up, but sat down on the couch beside her chair so they were at eye level.

"You look… younger. How is that possible?" Sara stared at him for a moment.

"What?" Cal looked surprised, then he glanced up at his hair, and chuckled. "Oh, yeah. No. I've just been you know, keeping up appearances."

It took Sara a moment to understand. There had been so much that had happened over the past few years, she had forgotten that he'd started dying his hair not long before her kidnapping. She grinned. "Aren't you a little past that mid-life crisis?"

Cal gave a casual shrug. "Well, you always said I took forever to grow up."

"True, though from what I've been reading, someone else beat you to it." Sara looked up at Gloria, who had been in high school the last time Sara had seen her. "I hear you've been trying your talents at international investigative journalism."

Gloria's cheeks flushed slightly, clearly pleased, even as she came in for her own hug. "It was a little unplanned," she admitted, "But I've got enough material to write at least twenty articles, and maybe a few books." Her eyes gleamed eagerly, and Sara knew what she was too polite to ask.

"Well, after the hubbub settles down, I promise you'll be the first person to get an in-depth interview." She refrained from chuckling at the almost giddy expression on Gloria's face. "I'm afraid I can't give you the first public statement. Ian's been helping me arrange that with a more even-handed program, to avoid any apparent bias. I still have some rumors to quell from folks who have trouble believing that me coming back isn't somehow an international conspiracy."

That drew a snort of derision from the tall blond who, upon seeing her eyes turn on him, looked apologetic. "Only an idiot would believe that," he commented.

Sara decided she liked the fiancé. "I'd love to hear your opinions on that in more detail. Preferably in writing in that magazine of yours, but I won't push." She smiled and held out a hand for a shake. "It's nice to meet you, Alexei. Alyse has been telling me about you."

Alexei shook her hand warmly. "The honor is mine, ma'am…general? Do you have a preference?"

"I'll settle for ma'am for now, and worry about formalities some other time, but it should be something simple. Having to explain to people I'm your wife's mother's first cousin is a bit cumbersome."

Alexei's reaction only proved he was half-Drachman, because he laughed heartily. "It would be simpler if we had a word for that in Amestrian, wouldn't it?"

Sara smiled. "You could always use _ansha,_ but you would probably confuse a lot of people."

"I'll use it to explain to my family," he agreed.

Sara realized they were getting some funny looks from all concerned…except for Gloria, who looked intrigued. The Drachmans had a relation-term for relatives going out as far as five or six generations and fifth and sixth cousins; individual terms that covered the entire lineage without linking several other terms together. Efficient, if a bear to memorize them all. "I hope your family is all right." She could only imagine how worrying it must be for him, torn between both countries and having just been pulled out of Drachma.

"Thank you. I hope so as well. I called my mother this morning, and she said that everyone she had talked to was fine, but doing their best to stay out of the way. We'll be going back to North City in a few days, so hopefully there will be more news."

"We have to make sure we've still got jobs," Gloria explained. "I'm sorry we can't stay longer."

"I completely understand," Sara assured them. "Though I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. I keep reading articles with your news reports quoted, and cited with names. They'd be fools not to have kept your jobs waiting for you." Certainly, in journalism, their initiative must count for something.

Gloria smiled. "That's good to know."

It was a pleasant conversation. Sara kept the topic to things _she_ wanted to hear about, so she asked about Gloria and Alexei's trip to Drachma before everything had gone to hell, and congratulated them on their engagement. They talked about fleeing Petrayevka and how they had inadvertently gotten involved in the rebellion. She noticed that Cal was paying rapt attention, and realized he probably hadn't heard a detailed account of events either. He had just gone charging in to save his daughter, and that had been accomplished. Then they talked about how fascinating it had been flying back, and the pictures Alexei couldn't wait to get developed. He would probably make a small fortune selling the first images of Drachma and Amestris from plane height, once that information was no longer classified. That led to Trisha explaining, in a little more detail than she had been able to before, about her very fast flight training from her grandfather, and how the mission had gone from the pilot's perspective.

"I don't remember too much about the flight," Sara admitted. "If we don't end up hiding the thing in a garage again, I'd love a ride where I'm conscious and can actually see out the windows."

Trisha chuckled. "Well, hopefully we can make that happen."

Eventually, Trisha had to go pick up the children from school and go finish her mission report. Gloria and Alexei went with her, but Cal chose to stay a while longer.

"I can survive on my own," Sara reminded him good-naturedly.

"I'm sure you can," he shrugged. "But in this case, I'm selfishly hogging your precious time to myself for a few minutes."

"Well I have been in high demand, lately."

"Can I get you anything?" he offered, standing. "I could use a drink myself."

"More water would be great," Sara held up her glass, which Cal took.

"Water, huh? Living it up aren't we?" He headed into the kitchen.

"You have no idea what luxury is until you don't have to worry about what's in your glass of water giving you diarrhea and stomach cramps for three days," Sara informed him as she watched him. "Have whatever you want in the fridge," she added. "There's tea and orange juice in the door, or Franz keeps the good beer in the back of the top shelf, behind the milk."

Cal returned a minute later with her water and a beer, and sat back down on the end of the couch.

"So, now that I'm all yours, what do you want to know?" Sara asked curiously.

"Well, first off, what are you doing in my wife's clothes?"

She had not been expecting that question. Sara laughed. "Alyse kindly loaned me a few things that slip on and don't require complex maneuvering over my knees. Did you know that, aside from a couple of formal gowns, the only thing I own is pants?" Sara had never given it any thought, but it was true. The thick, rose colored ankle-length wool skirt she was currently wearing was out of place, but very comfortable. Alyse had brought her several easy to slip on winter dresses and skirts.

Cal grinned. "Somehow, that does not surprise me. I suppose a shopping spree through downtown was not first on your priority list."

Sara sipped her drink. "Oh, believe me, I wish I could just go out on my own and go buy some new clothes, but until the media circus dies down and I can do so without being stared at, having things brought to me is appreciated."

Her frustration must have shown, because Cal looked sympathetic. "Well, I can tell you that no one at HQ, certainly no one in the State Alchemist program, believes any of the crackpot theories people have been spouting. We know you too well."

"Not even the new kids?" Seven years of new State Alchemists wouldn't know her from the Prince of Xing.

"Your daughter represents you too well for that. You should see the work she's done since we assigned her to the training program. Our new recruits are a talented lot, but she's put them through their paces."

"Nice to know she's doing my job well."

Cal's grin slipped. "You know if you decide not to retire, we still need you, right? We can assign someone else to tasks you did, but that doesn't make you replaceable. In fact… you're irreplaceable." His tone softened, and was that a hitch in his voice?

Was that, _emotion?_

"Well, that's nice of you to say, Cal," Sara replied with an awkward smile. "But from a work standpoint, I know I am. I don't want to take Trisha's career away from her. She's earned her way up. I do think I'd like to keep working, but I have no idea what I'll do. It might just be time for me to step up and take on the job I should have had for the past few years, if I'd been here." The wife of the President certainly did a lot, and what they did unofficially varied greatly. While some had been primarily entertainers and good-will ambassadors, Riza Mustang had continued to provide her husband very close-hand security, and she had used those social engagements to turn minds, gather information, and provide intelligence that helped Roy in his work. Sara could see herself as _that_ kind of President's wife. "Right now, the most useful thing I've been able to do, besides being badly used as a hostage, is provide a few insights into the Drachman mind. I could write a _book_ on the Drachman prison system and how they deal with political prisoners."

Cal winced, and Sara felt apologetic. It had been her life for so long, she had been hardened to a lot of the harshness of her environment. It had been survive or die, and she had refused to do the latter. In doing so, she had accepted her situation and learned to live in it. She was not ashamed of the horrors she had been through, or the years of monotonous hard work in between. Sara was learning that her time as a captive was something everyone else would need more time to work through in their own ways.

"What was it like?" Cal asked. "I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, I understand, but I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact they tricked all of us into thinking you were dead. If we had known…"

"You'd have mounted a rescue party and charged in alchemy blazing." Sara smiled. "I know, Cal. Believe me, I don't blame you or anybody else. The Syndicate guys told me early on that they had made everyone think I was dead…that to the world I was dead. They thought it would make me cooperative, or make me give up fighting them."

"They didn't know you very well, did they?"

"No, for all that they managed to set an elaborate trap and capture me… they didn't really _get_ me. I know this pain and the guilt is fresh for all of you, but I dealt with my own insecurities and frustration years ago. If anything else, I've got a much better understanding of my limits… and what people are willing to do to get what they want. I've seen some horrible things, and I've been through hell, and hell couldn't keep a hold of me. They screwed up, and the cavalry came to save me on a winged steed of steel, just on the _possibility_ that I wasn't a fake. I know very well how much I was missed, and how much everyone cares." No one had been shy about saying it since her return, either.

Cal nodded, though he was still quiet. "Do you remember that mission we went on in Graywall?"

For a moment, Sara went still. Oh yes, she remembered mudslides, and death, and tears. They hadn't spoken of it in a very long time… mostly by mutual agreement that they should never do so again. "I do. It was forty-seven years ago. Why?"

Cal fiddled with the bottle in his hands. "I was just thinking… how much things have changed since then." He looked up at her, his eyes surprisingly intense. "God… we were so young… and I thought I knew so much about the world and how to be strong in it."

"We were kids," Sara reminded him; barely into their twenties at that. "We thought we knew everything. You helped me deal with horrors I'd never experienced… in your own way. I never expected more."

"You're too kind sometimes, at weird moments," Cal commented. "I know now there were _much_ better ways of handling that situation and, well, a lot of things I did in the first couple of decades of my life. But…apologies aren't why I'm here."

"Good, cause if you want to apologize for that now, I'll hit you." There was nothing to apologize for.

That got a smile out of him again. "It's just that I remember thinking… in my ignorant arrogance, how vulnerable you were, how protected… and how much I wanted to make it better, but now—now I'm talking to a woman who has survived far more than I could; things that would break _anyone_ , and while I know you're going through a lot more inside than it looks like, I'm impressed…and relieved… and amazed. And… frankly… grateful that you're here. I know, in our line of work, we have a lot of _unspoken_ understandings as colleagues, as alchemists; we've got each other's backs, and we trust each other, and we care but…"

If he left it there she really might strangle him, but Sara waited. There was clearly a lot of emotional history and thought behind Cal's words, and his feelings. He had never been expressive with his innermost insecurities with anyone, except Alyse, which was as it should be. Little things, exterior problems, he'd gripe about for days, but never the things that really mattered.

Sara reached out and laid one hand lightly on his. "But, what?"

"I've spent years regretting that I never told you how much your friendship has really meant to me, even in those early years, where you and Mustang mostly tolerated my existence because we were assigned together." He paused, took a drink, and continued. "I've always known exactly where we stand, because you've always been brutally honest with me; no games, no lies, no hedging. I'd… I'd be lying if I said I never had a bit of a thing for you back then. But I think, you should know, that probably every man who's known you has had a bit of a thing for you."

She snorted. "Be serious."

"I am." He met her gaze. "Not that I regret the way our lives have gone, not at all. Alyse is the most wonderful person I could ever have in my life, and you and Franz are perfect. We'd have made a horrible couple."

On that, they could agree. Sara giggled. "We'd have been the worst; killed each other in days."

"Absolutely." He looked relieved. "But that doesn't mean you haven't been one of my dearest, closest friends, and one of a very small number of people I've ever really trusted. When you, well, _died_ … I had no idea if you knew how much I appreciated you."

Wow. Sara tightened her grip on his arm, just a little. "I think I knew… but you're right, it's nice to hear it. Thank you, Cal." She wasn't the only one who had spent the intervening years thinking of things she'd wished she had said to people, apparently. "While we're being honest and telling all the things we wished we said to people while we had the chance… I hope you know I appreciate your friendship, and how many times you've had my back."

Cal set one hand on top of hers, just for a moment. "Thanks."

"You didn't really mean what you said about _everybody_ having a thing for me, did you?"

His trademark grin returned. "No, I did. Maybe not all the same _kind_ of thing, but you leave a mark on people, and they tend to care about you. Heck, _Skyfire_ came out of retirement to fly across half of Drachma in the middle of the night to pull you out of a cell, and he was your commanding officer. Maybe they love you like a sister, or a daughter, or a friend, but I don't think anyone can meet you without caring about you, Princess."

"Do you have any idea how long it's been since you called me that?"

"Absolutely, but maybe it's time for an upgrade. You're more of a warrior queen than a protected princess."

"Warrior queen." Sara decided she liked that. "Very well, you may call me Your Majesty anytime you like, but don't you think you might make your wife jealous?"

"Nah." Cal shook his head. "She knows she's the Goddess of my world."

 **January 27** **th** **, 1990**

There was one nice thing about trying to sneak into places that were too big to be entirely walled off, and that was that no matter what kind of megalomaniac was running the place, there was no way he could keep watch on every inch of his vast rebellion-torn country.

Ted could not have been more pleased with how well things were going, though that made him just a little uneasy. He, Roy, and Anika had made it back into Petrayevka with very little trouble. Savahin _wanted_ the locals going about their business, living their lives, and trying to reclaim some semblance of normal. The faster they returned to normal, the faster they would simply accept their new government and way of life.

Which meant that by using back neighborhood roads, it had not been difficult for them to drive back through the suburbs and into the main part of Petrayevka generally unnoticed. There had been one government checkpoint on a main road, but they'd like Anika do the talking. Even with her fake ID, it had been easy to insist she was coming back to work after the holidays and had been waiting for things to settle down for fear of her life. An expressed concern that the Amestrians might have been dangerous seemed to earn them bonus points. Ted and Roy were her boyfriend and her co-worker whose family lived near hers, so they had all gone home for the holidays together. Simple enough story, and convincing. Ted had managed to fake work-IDs for him and Roy that didn't require photos, citing the fighting in the city they were claiming to be from as having destroyed the bar they had been at one night. The papers were, Anika had assured them, a legitimate form of ID, and while they got a very thorough look-over, they passed inspection.

Once inside the city, it hadn't been at all difficult to go to ground for a few hours. Anika had simply taken them with her to her actual place of employment: the Drachman National Zoo.

"How do we know it's safe for you to be here?" Ted asked as they slipped quietly into the back of the zoo's offices.

"The government has always very generously funded the zoo," Anika replied, "And given my love of animals, you can imagine my father has also donated heavily over the years. No one here is going to turn us in, and I have to make sure everyone is okay."

"Fair enough."

Roy looked annoyed, but Ted just shrugged. Anika knew the people, and the city. They didn't. Besides, some of the zoo folks might be willing to help.  
As it turned out, the zoo had been open, but mostly unvisited, for the past few weeks. It only took a few minutes for Anika to find the curator who was also the head Keeper, and her direct boss.

:Anika?: The middle-aged woman looked startled. :I thought you were safe at home.:

Anika shrugged. :No one is safe, Mrs. Volkova. You've seen the news.:

Volkova nodded, her expression dour. :I am sorry about your father. I was hoping you would stay away, for that reason. Being a member of your family is dangerous right now. You know we would not have given away your job over this.:

:I know, but that doesn't mean I haven't been worried about you, and about the animals,: she added. :Was any damage done to the zoo during the riots?:

:No, thankfully,: Volkova replied. :The few of us who were here late locked the gates and no one got inside. We stayed to make sure everyone was still fed and watered. With everything that's going on, we've been mostly forgotten. Though we were able to order this month's feed supply, so some things in this country are still working normally.: She eyed Ted and Roy suspiciously. :Who are they?:

:Friends of my family,: Anika replied. :They came with me, just in case.:

Ted waited for her to elaborate, or to be asked for introductions. Their fake IDs gave them Eduard Lerich and Rorick Malkev, which were close enough to their real names they would respond to them.

Volkova seemed to trust Anika at her word. She nodded brusquely to them both. :Well then. What brings you back? I doubt you decided today was a good day to feed tigers.:

:Much as I'd like to, I am here on family business. We needed a place to work quietly. If I do not tell you more, than you will be able to claim you knew nothing honestly.:  
Now that got a reaction, and a suspicious frown. :I understand. The classroom is empty today. You may do what you need to do there. If you have time, we could still use help with the usual feeding.:

:Of course.:

The classroom was a room that looked like it normally housed a couple dozen schoolchildren at a time. It was colorful and full of the kinds of educational animal charts and facts that Ted would expect in any zoo, just in Drachman. There were several tables and chairs, and a tank full of brightly colored fish that looked like they belonged in the reefs off Creta. Another tank held a couple of lizards.

"So did we just volunteer to feed zoo animals?" Roy asked as they locked the door and pulled off hats and scarves and overcoats.

"In exchange for a safe, private place to plain a jail break; yes," Anika replied simply. She went over to a drawer, pulled out a large sheet of paper, and a couple of markers, and laid them out on the table, right next to their roadmap. "Don't tell me you're afraid of a few harmless animals."

"You mean the ones you're trained to shoot for safety?" Roy quipped.

"Only as a last resort." Anika shrugged. "Also, most of our actual weapons shoot tranquilizers. Which, I thought, might also be useful in this little operation."

Ted couldn't help smiling. "It definitely looks better if we don't have to kill too many people. Is there anything that will allow them to trace tranquilizers back to the zoo?"

Anika shook her head. "Well, the fact that they are darts will be suspicious I'm sure, but all Mrs. Volkova has to do is insist she never saw us and people can assume they were stolen. We did not tell her anything, and she won't ask even though she's probably guessed. The prison itself also has tranquilizers, and the only difference is dosage. First they'll have to prove they weren't taken from the prison itself, or from a hospital and put into darts."

Ted joined them at the table and watched as Anika very quickly and effectively sketched out an outline of the prison building, the streets around it, and the nearest buildings and parking lots. "Looks like what we've seen on the news." The outline was blue.

Anika nodded. "It's the only prison that's actually inside city limits. The walls are twenty feet of solid concrete, ringed with barbed wire, and there are gunnery posts on every corner." These, she notated in red. "Fortunately, those weapons are actually on set mounts that only allow them to shoot inwards."

"Interesting bit of forethought." Roy looked thoughtfully down at the map.

"Not really. There was a prison break attempt about sixty years ago. The prisoners took control of the towers and started shooting down outside the walls at the police. Once they retook the prison, they implemented a few safety precautions."

Ted grimaced. "I don't suppose they left out a few things."

Anika grinned. "Well, they didn't count on alchemists trying to break _in_ , or out probably. Imprisoned alchemists were never kept in the city as far as I know."  
"And how do you know that?"

"I was doing research while we were at the Gurina house."

Of course she was. Ted nodded. "So, sneaking in _under_ the walls should still be a viable option." While it would have taken forever the old-fashioned way, a little alchemy could create them a tunnel in a couple of minutes. He looked at the layout. "We should start here." He tapped the map, at a spot behind a building almost a block away. It had an empty parking lot, and backed on a park. At night, there was no reason for it to be populated. Most importantly, there were no apartments right around the prison. "If we park over here," he noted another lot, a little further away that would be less suspicious, "it's close enough for you to get folks in. Others can spread out and vanish into the city, or cut through the park. They'll have to figure out where the tunnel comes out before they can track people down."

"We're digging in. Where are we coming up in the building?" Roy asked.

"This is where we have to hope intelligence was right," Anika admitted. She doodled a small square on one corner of the building. "On the basement floor, this is storage and laundry. According to intelligence, laundry shifts end at dinner time, so no one should have any reason to be in that room. There's also a staircase here." She drew it in, right outside the room. "It's a staff-access only, so it's locked, but it goes up to all but the top floor."

"Which is where we need to be, right?" Roy scowled.

"Well, yes." She moved her pen down several inches to the other end of the building. "The staircase that leads to the sixth floor, which is where all maximum-security prisoners are kept, is this one. It's also only accessible by key."

"Or alchemy." Ted nodded.

"This place is a safety nightmare." Roy traced their route with a finger. "How did they plan to get the prisoners out if there was ever a fire, or an earthquake?"

Ted watched Anika's face go deadpan. "What makes you think they ever planned to evacuate the prisoners?"

That, he thought, was why people feared Drachma. And his Aunt had spent years in some of these places. He shuddered. "We transmute the tunnel up to the wall of this basement laundry, then create a portal in as quietly as possible. We use alchemy, our prodigious lock picking skills, and tranquilizers to get through guards and doors. If we're lucky, we get a hold of an actual set of keys, but we don't count on that. We go up those back stairs to the fifth floor. _Are_ there other flights of stairs?"

Anika nodded, and marked some circles on the map in green. "These are the other cases. One goes to the first through third floors. Another the second through forth, and the last one the third through fifth. It's how they keep anyone from charging down to the main level all at once. The one we're using _is_ the only access point to the laundry."

"Good, good." Ted picked up an orange marker, fiddling with it in his hands as he considered the options. "We go straight up to the fifth floor, and we just need to come down this walkway," he gestured with the marker, "which is probably long, wide-open, and without any place to hide. Do we know what kind of cells are in here?"

Anika nodded. "Oh, that's widely advertised actually, to reassure people of the place's security and, well, discourage illegal actions in the city. They're all solid metal doors, with multiple bolts from the outside. There are no windows in the doors, just slits wide enough to look through and slide a plate in and out."

"If we're quiet and stay low, even the prisoners are unlikely to see us or make a ruckus." Ted liked that, a lot. If they timed it right, they might be able to avoid guards. If not, well, they could take them out quickly with the tranquilizers and no one would hear a thing. "So, what do we know about the sixth floor?"

Anika sketched out another shape and drew in the cells. "All the cells on the sixth floor are on internal walls, so even though nothing has windows, they don't have an exterior wall either. They're all placed with extra thick wall spaces between them as well, so we'll have to find the right ones, and no one will be able to pass messages between them. The doors are the same, but with more bolts. Speed is going to be critical. Also…. We need to take out the cameras without alerting the main security room."

Cameras, of course. "Could we cause a distraction and do that at the same time?" Ted suggested, suddenly wishing he had the Shock alchemist with him, or the rest of his team. "Where's the electrical room?"

"Too close to the laundry to start a fire or something obvious." Anika shook her head. "Though we could probably short the system from there first. If we're lucky, they won't notice until we're off the floor and heading back downstairs. By the time they check the sixth floor, we could be gone."

"How are we going to locate the right cells fast enough?" Roy asked, looking skeptical. "We shouldn't just blow them all…. There might be actual criminals in there."

A fair point. "Maybe we're over-complicating this." Ted looked at the map. "Anika, are there any people in here who _aren't_ actually dangerous criminals, besides the ones we're pulling out."

She looked thoughtful. "I was told once that the second floor is usually reserved for criminals who stole money; political funds, embezzlement, illegal business practices of that sort."

"Would they cause enough chaos if we let them out?" Roy asked.

Ted wasn't sure about that either. "Honestly, it couldn't hurt, and we could release all of them in about fifteen seconds with alchemy and be on our way with no one the wiser. They'd probably think it was an earthquake."

"Plausible. We get them occasionally." Anika nodded. "So, we create chaos on the second floor first. Then while everyone's looking there, we make it to the sixth, find my father's cell, break him out, and anyone else we have time for."

Which Ted understood to mean, if they got no one else, than they got no one else, but it would be a start. He hoped General Marskaya could help identify others for them. Otherwise, they might be setting serious criminals free by accident. Though, right now, Ted was _almost_ all right with that. "Then there's our plan. In, hit the second floor, keep going. Slip down the fifth floor as soon as the guards go to check out the second, or tranquilize them. Break folks out, and get the heck out as fast as we can, through the tunnel, closing it on the way, then we split at the exit." If they did it right, getting in and out would only take a few minutes… maybe half an hour if they were able to sneak or had to slow things up. In and out and then… then who knew when he'd see Anika again.

Roy still looked like he didn't like it but he nodded. "We could over-think it all day and it'll just go to hell when things get lively. This is probably the best we're going to get."  
Anika nodded. "Okay so… this is it. Now, the smallest shift is the shift from midnight to eight in the morning, so we should plan to go in after the change, when there are fewer people there, and once they've had a chance to settle in, get a little bored. Let's call it two-twenty."

"Interesting time choice." Not that Ted was arguing.

"Hours and half-hours are so obvious. I thought it might be a little more… unpredictable."

Ted could live with unpredictable.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed into evening in a flurry of productive physical activity. Anika found the routine of feeding her animals reassuring after being away for weeks. They had obviously missed her as well. Roy was asked to help in the hoofed animal enclosure, and Anika found herself alone with Ted, feeding her wild cats.

Many of them were not safe to spend too much time with, or get too close to, but there were a couple who—rescued as babies and raised in captivity—were downright affectionate. "This is Myrda," she introduced Ted to her favorite, a huge white tiger. "She was brought to us as a baby just three years ago. I bottle fed her myself."

Myrda padded across the enclosure as Anika let them both in, and then sniffed Anika once before leaning heavily against her, nuzzling, and making the tiger equivalent of purring. Anika hugged her tightly. :I've missed you too, darling girl.: She surprised herself as tears sprang into her eyes. She was leaving again…and she had no idea when or if she would see her beautiful tiger. Or, for that matter, the good-looking Amestrian she may never see after tonight, and that was if everything went _well._ She had spent the past short weeks getting to know him, and she couldn't deny that despite it being stupidly irrational, she found him attractive, amusing, generous, and—unless she was very much mistaken—he was interested. The fact that he hadn't hit on her during all of this only made her like him more. All he had done was support her, and volunteer for this crazy mission to save her father when he had absolutely no reason… at least, not from a duty standpoint.

"She's gorgeous. Will she let me pet her?"

Anika blinked away the few tears on her cheeks. :Of course,: she replied. :Speak Drachman, or she won't understand you.:

:Oh, right.: Ted smiled, then crouched down beside them both, offering his hand out for Myrda to sniff. The large tiger did so, then almost at once, nuzzled up against Ted, almost knocking him over. Laughing, he steadied himself, and scratched her under the chin. :Aren't you a beautiful girl,: he said, his expression full of awe and wonder. :She's incredible.:

:She's my baby,: Anika nodded. :I'm going to miss her.:

:You'll be back someday, when all of this is over.: Ted said reassuringly, his eyes still focused on Myrda. :Just believe it, and make it happen. This won't last forever, and eventually everything will be right again.:

:You really believe that, don't you?: She couldn't help staring at him. His optimism could make her believe almost anything.

:Sure I do.: He turned his smile on her. :You're incredible, and intelligent, and brave. You won't let anything get between you and what you want. That's why we're here isn't it? We're going to save your father, and then Roy and I are going to blow up those planes, and everything will be all right.:

There was no thinking in her next action, just an overwhelming surge of emotion as Anika leaned over, and gave in to the urge she had been fighting for days, and kissed him.

Startled, he grabbed her, and they wobbled, falling to the ground.

Ted laughed as they landed in the pile of straw that was Myrda's bed in the indoor portion of her enclosure. His arms were around her as she landed on top of him. "Wow… where'd that come from?"

She tried to get up, but his arms were still there, and she didn't really want to. :I like you,: she blurted out. :A lot. I think… maybe more than a lot. I'm sorry I waited until now to say something.:

Ted looked stunned then, just when she started to be afraid that she had misread him, he pulled her closer and kissed her again, passionately, fiercely. :I think I love you,: he replied when their lips parted. :I know it's crazy, insane really….we haven't known each other long, and I thought, there was no way you felt the same and with a war… but I do. If I never see you again, at least I'll know I was able to help you do something really important. Of course,: he smiled that smooth, cocky smile, :while I don't know how long it will be, I'm sure I'll see you again.:

Anika couldn't help smiling. His grin was infectious. :And why is that?:

:Because no matter what happens, or how long this civil war lasts, I'll do whatever it takes to find you.:

Already, in the brief time they had known each other, he had done more for her than any of her previous boyfriends had ever dreamed, or promised, or even tried. Without going out, she realized, they had been moving towards this all along. They worked together so smoothly, it was easy and natural, and while she had never believed foolish fairy stories about love, Anika trusted her own feelings, and her own gut instincts. :Then I believe you. No matter what, I will see you again, Edward.: She called him by his full name, and kissed him again.


	27. Chapter 27

**January 28** **th** **, 1990**

That was the thing about any plan, no matter how great; it was a great plan and it worked up until it stopped working. Ted had just hoped that their carefully laid plans would last a little longer. They arrived at their location on time, transmuted a very nice tunnel that came out exactly where they had planned in the laundry—leaving bundles of lost-and-found zoo garments there for quick changes for escaping jailbirds—, hid the tunnel entrance with a little more quick alchemy, and made it to the stairs.

On the first floor landing they heard footsteps coming down the stairs from above.

:-I can't believe they forgot this load of crap-: someone was mumbling.

:Third shift are getting sloppy. I'm going to complain to management,: another voice replied.

Anika's eyes widened.

As much as they needed a set of keys off somebody, getting caught on the landing was not the place to do it. Ted stuffed the skeleton key he had transmuted into the lock of the door on the landing. The key was special—in that he had put a transmutation circle into the little handle part—so when he sent energy through it, the metal inside the lock, matched the lock. The door clicked, and the three of them frantically ducked through the door.

Ted just hope no one was waiting for them on the first floor.

As the door closed, he heard it automatically click back into a locked position. Good. No one would be suspicious. He turned and look around. Aside from himself, Anika, and Roy, no one else was there.

They were standing in a storage room, lit only by dim ceiling emergency-style lighting, that appeared to be food storage based on the amount of canned and boxed goods he saw.

"I think we're in the kitchen," Roy commented in a very soft voice that carried less than a whisper. "Well, behind it."

Anika nodded. "Storage closet. No cameras. Beyond here should be the actual kitchen, then the mess, which extends across almost half the floor."

"What's beyond that?" Ted asked.

"Rec room, craft room…" Anika's brow furrowed. "The other set of stairs, the ones that go from here to third are at the far end."

"Which gives us an option, though those will be full of cameras." Ted leaned against the door they had come in and listened. He could hear footsteps below them now, in the basement. "When they come back up, let's grab them. They've obviously got keys and this is the quietest place for an ambush. Then we pull them in here, restrain them outside of camera view, and high tail it up to fifth; blowing everything on second as we planned." It meant not having to kill anyone, not yet.

A round of nods, and Ted listened, unlocking the door just enough that he could hear the murmur of voices downstairs, then the footsteps on the stairs coming back up, and voices talking. It wasn't like _they_ had to worry about being quiet after all. They worked here. He held up his fingers with three up, and as they got closer, he dropped them, one…. Two…. Three.

Standing behind the door, Ted popped it open, Anika brought up her tranquilizer gun, and Roy sent a spark through the door that flashed and popped in front of them, startling both men so that they stopped moving—just long enough for two darts to hit them in the neck. Almost at once, they fell, one into Roy's arms, and the other into Ted's as he darted out.

They dragged both men into the room and closed the door. Quickly Ted felt through pockets and located the keys on a ring, unclipped them, and then grabbed some twine out of a bucket of spare that looked like it came off the packages of food that came in. Ted didn't care what they normally did with it, he just transmuted it into one long length and bound both men together.

"Well, that was simple."

Anika bent down and removed her darts. "No immediate evidence."

Next stop, second floor. It only took a minute to creep up the next two flights, and use the existing keys on the door. This time it was Roy who stuck his head through the door while Ted readied another transmutation. Roy waved once, and Ted set it off. In the hallway, everything shook—most of the building shook—and the electricity shorted, and there were muffled shouts up and down the hall from inside the cells as walls buckled and doors creaked.

Roy closed the door. "Perfect. Let's go, now."

It was the quietest almost-run up several flights of stairs Ted had ever made, and he was grateful for the rigorousness of his State Alchemist training. They stopped outside the fifth-floor door only long enough to make sure no one was running down the hallway towards them. Below, they heard the door from the fourth floor slam open—and they froze.

:Hurry up!: someone shouted and two sets of footsteps stampeded down the flights below.

Ted realized he was not the only one holding his breath as they opened the door. If any guards left the fifth floor, they must have done it down the other staircase. Or, they might still be patrolling. They would not have emptied everyone off every floor to see to something. At least, not at first. It depended on how much of a ruckus the escapees on the second floor made when they realized they were at least able to get out of their cells.

There was definitely _something_ going on below. The lights flickered, and the building shifted slightly, and Ted hoped he hadn't over done it.

Take three was Anika's. If anyone was in the hallway, they needed to snipe them before they could call for assistance.

The door opened, and Anika slipped through it, gun drawn.

They waited…. But there was no sound. A few seconds later, her hand motioned them through.

It was a long hallway, with very little lighting. The walls were dark brown concrete, the doors red and scraped. The lights were little round yellow things in the ceiling spaced close enough to overlap and keep there from being any shadows, yet they felt dim. All in all, a very unpleasant place.

Staying low, and walking softly, they hurried down the hall past the cells of inmates who were shouting for information, or wondering what was going on, but were barely audible to them, let alone each other.

They made it to the end only to find that door did not have a key on the ring they had, and that it had three locks on this side. Ted yanked out his alchemical skeleton key, and got to work, but he was starting to sweat, even in the cool chill of the hallway. Even with alchemy, the locks took time. One lock…. Two…. Seconds ticking by. He was just getting the third when he heard a shout from behind him.

:Hey who are—: a whoosh, and silence, then a body hitting the floor.

"We should hurry," Roy suggested.

"I got that." Ted's heart was beating fast now as the third lock opened, and they hurried up the last flight of stairs. If there was going to be a fight, Ted expected it here.  
Which was why they weren't giving them time to react. Ted and Roy hit the door together, alchemy at the ready thanks to their gloves.

Inside three seconds the cameras and lights had gone completely dark, and the floor was a flash of flame that set the boots of both of the guards hopping even as they turned to stare at the intruders.

Pop. Pop. Two more darts, two guards down.

"You know, we're pretty good at this." Ted grinned.

"Yeah well, let's not make Prison Breaking a career," Roy quipped as he stood up, grabbing a flashlight out of his pocket and turning it on. He shoved it at Ted. "Since you suggested we take out the lights."

"It was the only way to make sure all the electric up here was off," Ted pointed out.

Anika ran ahead of them, hopping over the two downed guards without a second look. :Papa?: she called out into the sudden quiet. It occurred to Ted that they could not near anything from below, and that was because the walls were lined with soundproofing. Even Anika's call barely made a sound up here.

Anika was moving door to door, looking into the slits, calling for her father. While she did, Roy picked through the guards pockets for keys.

They hit gold on the fourth door. :This is it!: she waved them over. :He's in here.:

Roy used the key, and a moment later, the door came open on silent hinges.

Anika ran into the dark cell. Inside—thanks to the flashlight—Ted could see the recognizable face of General Marskaya, who looked absolutely flabbergasted, but only for a moment. Then he was on his feet, hugging his daughter.

The General, Ted noticed, did not waste time asking stupid questions. :Where's our exit?: he asked simply. :And how many can we take?:

:We've got a car that will cram six, but we're not going in it,: Ted gestured at himself and Roy. :So that's you two, and four. We have disguises for up to twenty if others want to try and make it away on the streets.:

The General nodded. :Open all the doors on this row, then we need to go. They check up here every twenty minutes, and the next round will be here in less than five.:

:If they aren't distracted,: Roy chuckled.

With the keys, Ted's key, and a little alchemy, they busted all the doors on the row in under three minutes. Bewildered people stumbled out into the dark hallway, visible only in the beam of the flashlight.

:Listen up!: the General barked. :We're being rescued. Follow orders and we might just get out of here. If we do, there are other clothes waiting and we can blend into the city. If you get out of the city, you know where to go.:

That got them quiet and listening.

Ted decided he liked the General.

:Alright, what's the plan?: Marskaya looked at his daughter.

Anika had just opened her mouth, when they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

:I've got it.: Roy spun, and before anyone could utter a word, a wash of flame blasted through the open upper door and into the stairwell. Below, there were shouts and screams and calls of :the sixth floor is on fire!: and the sounds of men stumbling backwards and the door slamming.

:Well, at least they don't know we're a prison break,: Ted commented. That would buy them a little time.

:We'll never make it back down the stairs,: Anika shook her head.

Ted nodded. It was true. They had set off too much chaos in too short a time, and they would be back if they thought the building was on fire, even if it was the high security floor. :Then we just need another way down.: He walked down the hallway until it ended. :Would you say we're fairly close to the other staircase from here?:

Anika looked confused as she followed him. :Probably, why?:

Ted pulled out a piece of chalk and put it to the wall. :Then I have our way out.:

* * *

Anika had no idea what Ted was about to do, but she had learned in the few weeks she had known him and the other State Alchemists, to expected the improbable. So she was only mildly surprised when a window appeared in the exterior wall big enough for a person to crawl through, and some kind of ledge beyond.

:You don't expect us to jump, do you?: she asked skeptically.

:Of course not.: Ted had that grin on his face, the one that said they were about to do something brilliant, but probably foolhardy. :This isn't a plank. It's a slide.:

:A what?:

:Normally I'd say ladies first, but I think I'm going to start this one, just in case.: Ted climbed up through the little window and out into the gusty cold night air. :Follow me!: Then, he vanished.

Anika bit back a scream as she shoved her head out the window and looked right… to see that he really had transmuted the entire brick wall of the building into a _slide_ that appeared to bring them down right outside the stacks that billowed steam out of the laundry and boiler rooms.

It wasn't a pretty slide, and it didn't look comfortable, but it was wide enough for an adult person, and it had a three-brick-high safety wall on the outside she appreciated. Still, it was awfully steep.

Ted was standing at the bottom looking up. He waved at her with a signal that clearly said :Come on!:

There wasn't time. Anika drummed up her nerve, sat down, tucked her arms, closed her eyes tight, and let herself drop.

It was the scariest fifteen seconds of her life as she fell, what felt like nearly straight down, except she was scraping along smoothed brick, and then she slowed and bumped, and skidded, and then she opened her eyes just in time to be almost tossed onto her feet—only to be caught by Ted's waiting arms.

Gasping, she stared up at him. "You're crazy!"

Ted held on to her for just a moment more, then he laughed. "Yeah. I am. It worked though."

She shook her head, and he let her go as she stumbled out of the way in time for the next arrival, and the next.

In a very short order, they had cleared out her father, and twelve other inmates, and Roy. It wasn't everyone she had seen in the line-up on the television, but it was a lot.  
Then Ted whipped out the chalk again, scribbled a transmutation circle faster than she could write her name, and transmuted the wall. In moments, the slide and the window were gone, and the wall looked almost exactly how it had before. At least, she suspected it did.

:Where now?: the General looked at Ted.

:Right here.: Grinning, Ted tapped his transmutation circle gloves together, and pressed them into the ground. Between their feet, a hole opened.

Startled, Anika realized they were standing right over Ted's original tunnel. Obviously, he had calculated their landing point with surprising accuracy.

It took much less time for everyone to drop into the tunnel, and for Ted to seal it. They had to backtrack a few feet to get to the clothing bundles, and then, in the darkness, every one of the rescued prisoners changed into the lost-and-found items she had taken from the zoo.

In their case, it was time for goodbyes. "I can't thank you enough," she said to Roy, and to Ted. "This would have been _impossible_ without you. I'm still having trouble believing we made it this far."

"Impossible is what we do," Roy assured her.

Ted's expression said more eloquently what he couldn't say in words. Not right here, with Roy watching, and with her father only feet away. He had certainly said it all, and more, back in Myrda's enclosure. Anika was sure her face had flushed at the thought, but the lack of good lighting worked in her favor. "Stay safe," he said, squeezing her hand. "Get home. I'll contact you when I can. If not, you've got the radio towers. Get a message to Central and I'll get it."

"I will." She was tempted to kiss him, one more time, but at that moment her father joined them.

"Thank you," he said in Amestrian, offering his hand, first to Ted, then to Roy. He shook both firmly. "I have no idea how you did it, or how my daughter is in the company of Amestrian Alchemists, but you will always be welcome at my table. May I have the names of tonight's heroes?"

"Your daughter is the real hero, Sir," Ted said, and Anika thought she might be blushing again, which was a bit awkward, since she almost never blushed about anything. "I'm afraid that, given the parameters of the mission, I cannot give you full name and rank, Sir. My apologies, but you may call us Ted, and Roy."

"Fair enough." He nodded, clearly understanding that this was, at the very least, highly classified and Amestris would be in huge trouble if anyone found out where Anika had gotten help.

"They're friends of mine, and of Gavril Mihalov," Anika added. That last part would certainly cement any trust issues in her father's mind. "I went to Karmatsk to find news of you, and they offered to help me. This was Ted's plan."

Ted grinned, though with more humility than she normally saw on his face. "It was a group effort."

Then everyone was ready, and it was time to go. They were hurrying down the tunnel and, at the exit, everyone scattered. Anika ran for the car with her father, and the four people he knew best from working in the government, followed. Others, drawing coats around them, walked briskly off in other directions, blending into the darkness.  
When she turned once, the alchemists were already gone.

* * *

While it was after three in the morning, the night was far from over. Not that Ted could have slept if he wanted to. Adrenaline was surging through his veins as he and Roy made it several blocks from the prison before long-term borrowing a motorcycle and zipping off into the nearest residential area, where they could get quickly lost in first square blocks, then the winding roads as they worked their way out of the city. The further they got from the prison, and faster, the better.

Roy was driving, and Ted sat behind him, hanging on, but grateful that Roy did—in fact—know how to drive the thing. Ted had learned from riding a friend's bike, but he hoped that neither one of them had to get away in a high-speed chase on the thing. He'd be much happier when they could swap out to an enclosed vehicle. It was also frigidly cold, and he couldn't help worrying about Anika. He hoped they had gotten out of town safely.

They dodged one checkpoint on the way out of the city, eventually finding themselves winding through dirt backroads. It was only then that Roy swung them around in a more westerly direction, cutting across the country south of the city, towards their next target.

Ted couldn't glance at his watch in the whipping wind, so he just waited, holding on while his legs and arms and face went numb, and started to ache.

Finally, Roy slowed as they saw a glow ahead of them that wasn't coming from Petrayevka off to their right, and they crept up the road until they could see the towers from the factories. Roy pulled off, and stopped along the side of the road, pulling the motorcycle into a cleft between two rocks.

Ted glanced at his watch. It was just after five-thirty. That meant that workers would probably be arriving in the next couple of hours. They needed to work fast. "One job down, one to go." He bit back a yawn. "An alchemist's work is never done."

"We'd better get some serious pay for this," Roy grumbled as he rubbed his hands together. "I could have been home right now, snuggled up in bed with my wife. Instead I'm here, helping you play hero for a girl you'll probably never see again."

Ted scowled. He hadn't ever told Roy how he felt about Anika, but he supposed it probably hadn't been hard to figure out. Not as much time as they had spent together, even if almost all of it _had_ been for legitimate work-related reasons. "I'll see her again," he replied flatly.

Roy looked startled. "I was joking… well, partially. Take it easy. _Please_ do not tell me you're in love with her."

"And what if I am?" Ted stared at Mustang. "She's intelligent, and funny, and beautiful, and she actually likes me back. Is that wrong?"

He wasn't sure he liked the pained sympathy in Roy's face any more than he had the last expression. "Ted… no. She's a great girl, at least from what I've seen. Seriously. She's possibly as good a shot as Grandma Riza, too. Your timing is just even more atrocious than usual."

"Meaning?" Ted turned away, pulling their two packs of supplies off the back of the bike.

"Well, first it was my sister-in-law, who already kind of had a thing for James to begin with. Then it was Alabaster, who you ignored until it was too late. Now it's the daughter of a _Drachman General_ in the middle of a civil war. Forget the fact you've known each other for what, a month? Month-and-a-half?"

"Not everyone grows up knowing their soul-mate from birth, you know," Ted grumbled. He tossed Roy his bag then hefted his own onto his back. There was a good chance they wouldn't be back for the bike, and some of the supplies might be useful. "Anika's different from Krista, or Clarina."

"Because she puts up with you and somehow finds you less annoying than other people do?"

Ted bit his tongue to keep from saying anything he might regret, and took a deep breath. "No one ever said love was rational. At least this time, it's mutual. As long as we both survive, we'll find each other again. It's not like we won't be able to pick up a radio or a phone and place a call. And I, for one, have no plan to die out here. So, let's go."

With that, he turned and started over the rocks, doing his best to step where snow had blown away to avoid leaving tracks.

Roy followed without further taunt, and Ted was grateful for it. He hadn't wanted to get into the private conversations he'd had with Anika with Roy. Those were precious, and they belonged just to him and her—and, he supposed, Myrda the tiger, who wouldn't be talking.

* * *

Roy knew he wasn't going to get any more out of Ted about his ill-advised—if understandable—feelings for the pretty Drachman girl. He hadn't had to ask to know the two of them were hot for each other. That much was obvious. The reaction he got from Ted though, concerned him, mostly because it was genuine, and their chances of seeing each other again were slimmer than he seemed to think.

Still, now was not the time for a long, drawn-out debate about dating across international borders with countries that were likely to remain unfriendly for years to come.  
They reached the top of the hill with minimal trouble, and peered over the edge and down onto the heavily-fenced factories and airstrip below.

Roy's stomach dropped ten feet as he looked at the sheer amount of destructive force waiting on that poured concrete.

Ten planes were lined up out in the open, and a large hanger that looked big enough to hold full hot-air balloons looked like it held more inside, from what he could see through the open door.

Even this late at night, the factories were belching smoke and steam, though Ted knew that it was more efficient to leave some machinery running than to turn it off and on, so they might not all be actively manufacturing at this hour. Clearly, however, Savahin had plans. Though there were enough planes that Roy couldn't help but think that this factory had been here longer than that and that the legitimate government had probably been building them. Whether or not they had planned to use them for war was a different story, but he doubted that Gurina's government had not been involved in their initial creation and development.

The place was, thankfully, almost deserted, though not quite. A couple of lights on in windows spoke of offices not left empty, and a couple of security guards patrolled, circling the exterior in vehicles. A skeleton maintenance crew also appeared to be at work. What concerned him most were the crates of what he guessed were likely explosives.

"Not entirely empty," Ted commented beside him. "At least there won't be too many casualties."

Roy nodded. They had a simple plan for this one, and it looked like it would work as long as they didn't get spotted. They were already mostly behind the factories. Quietly, they crept left and west, moving down through the rocks out of sight of any of the obvious security and approaching from the least likely direction. "Ready?"

Ted nodded, grinning smugly. "You know, it's a good thing I can sub in for almost everybody."

Roy refrained from eye-rolling, even though he knew he was plenty visible in the dark. Under the thick clouds, with the factory glowing, it was almost bright as late afternoon outside of the stark blackness of shadows. "Just make an earthquake, Proteus."

Ted pulled out chalk and crouched down on the rock by a particularly flat patch. Sketching out the circle only took him a minute. "Okay. Here we go." He placed his hands down, and Roy braced against a nearby rock ledge.

Just in time too. Below them, the buildings began to wobble and shake, and the earth shuddered. Pavement cracked, and people started running for cover, out of and away from the buildings. That was good, Roy thought, given what he planned to do next.

While everything was chaos on the other side of the building, the two alchemists hurried further down the hillside, ducking over boulders and around corners until they were right up against the chain-link-and-barbed wire fencing that surrounded the facility.

The back door to one of the factories was open. That, Roy thought, was perfect. It looked like someone had stopped unloading a supply truck when the earthquake started. Roy looked around and spotted what he needed; barrels of fuel on the ground near one end of the row of planes. "Knock those over," he said as he pulled the thick winter-gloves he'd kept on to keep his alchemy gloves dry off his hands.

Ted complied with a more generic shove into the ground that caused a ripple across the ground, and a spike of dirt that came up and stabbed one of the barrels right through. It began leaking everywhere.

Perfect. Roy snapped his fingers, and arched a spark twenty-yards through the cold, surprisingly dry air—the fuel went up in a roar of flames, and in seconds one plane was engulfed.

The leaking fuel was running across the uneven ground, now flaming, and it hit another plane, then it reached a third.

Shouting began in earnest as men ran further out, except for a couple who seemed to be running for fire suppression equipment. Surely a facility like this would have some.  
Still, it wouldn't be fast enough. While Ted nudged flaming barrels so they rolled all over the place, setting anything they could on fire, Roy focused his attention on the open factory door. If only he had something he could use to set off more fire. It was just too far away for a snap to do it. He might catch something outside, but not enough to destroy the factory. Unless. "Is there any chance you can get one of those near those crates of explosives?"

Ted's eyes widened for a moment, but he nodded. "It'll be a little more obvious, but yeah. Why?"

"I want you to set them off… all of them." Roy ran the calculations in his head. "If you can topple a few of them this way, it should be enough to start a fire in this factory here. It's the biggest, so it probably handles more parts than the others. It might take the others with it if it gets going, and maybe it won't, but I think that's the best we're going to get. They're already coming back with a pump and hose."

They were moving quickly. A small pump truck was already pulling up, and people were grabbing at the hose and other equipment.

Ted went to work. The ground buckled again with a second, smaller quake, and the barrels rolled—people ran and screamed—and the crates fell over.

Roy hoped his hunch was right as the first flaming barrel ran into the crates—

—and hell rained from the sky!

The did not explode so much as erupt, shooting pieces of crate and barrel hundreds of feet in the air. Roy and Ted both ducked as it started raining down everywhere, even where they stood.

The wash of heat was fierce, and when Roy could finally look up, blinking through the bright light, he saw that his instincts had been right.

The main factory was already starting to go up in flames. Snapping his fingers, Roy fed the inferno.

SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK

Ted thought it was the most beautiful fire he had ever seen. Well, excepting some campfires he had enjoyed in his life, but this was much more impressive.  
He was beginning to think they might be able to get the fire to spread to the next factory for certain, when he heard a shout that was more alert than panic and turned instinctively, just in time to see two men getting out of a security car and pointing in their direction. Moments later, that pointing was with rifles.

"Time to go!" he shouted, ducking behind a boulder, with Roy hot on his tail as he heard shots fired.

The mad scramble back to the motorcycle was one of the most exhausting of Ted's life, given most of it was uphill, on slippery rocks, trying to avoid gunfire. The only good fortune they had was that there was no gate on the backside of the facility, and the guards would have had to come out and around to come after them, so they had a good head start.

At least, he hadn't seen one. He began to wonder when a bullet bounced off the rocks less than ten feet from his head. By the time they reached the top of the incline, he was panting heavily, gasping cold air into his lungs, and his side was on fire from exertion.

They hit the road and sprinted the last fifty yards to the motorcycle, starting it up, mounting, and taking off in record time.

Ted held on for his life as Roy kicked it into high gear and they half-slid back down the icy hill towards the roads. In the distance, he could hear engines behind them, and he knew they were hot in pursuit behind them. There was no way they wouldn't assume that the people skulking behind the factory were not saboteurs. Not given how quickly everything had gone up.

Frankly, Ted wondered if these people _ever_ took alchemists seriously, or into account when they came up with safety and security measures. First the prison, now the factories… he had a feeling that if their names had been known, some new safety codes would probably have been named after them. _The Proteus Contingency;_ he kind of liked it.

The roads were much more treacherous coming down out of the foothills towards the valley the main highway and the train system ran through, even up to not far south of Petrayevka. The bike slid several times, though Roy managed to get it back under control every time, and somehow they continued to put on speed. Ted had no idea how his friend was managing, but he was honestly impressed—when he wasn't clinging to Roy's back like a spider for dear life.

Roy did not make for the main highway, but turned off barely two hundred yards before it, taking a local highway that paralleled the much larger highway, but with less visibility. It cut through the hills, winding and bobbling, and soon they were rushing into a forest, surrounded by thick conifers that blocked a lot of the wind.

Behind them the shouting and the sound of trucks eventually died away, and they were once again streaming through the frigid early morning hours, with the glow of the sky vanishing behind them into darkness.


	28. Chapter 28

**February 1, 1990**

Charlie Fischer wasn't sure that he was actually happy to be lucid as the train pulled into Central and jolted to a halt that sent pain shooting up his arm. He grimaced, but it was pain he was already used to. He had spent most of the trip back in varying states of unconsciousness, or fuzzy-headed, with pain that vacillated from excruciating to almost bearable. The only blessing had been that he had not had much time to think until now.

For which he had been grateful, because consciousness brought feelings he would rather not feel—besides the pain—like guilt, helplessness, shame… that he had failed, that he hadn't fixed it fast enough, that he had been crippled for life because of it.

How was he supposed to prove for his family if he couldn't work? Oh, sure, they kept assuring him that he could have auto-mail, but that was still years of physical therapy and pain when he wouldn't be bringing in money. Shelby wouldn't blame him, because she was too good that way, but they couldn't live on her part-time work, and she was just going back to school…and now she not only had three children but a useless husband.

Charlie wondered if they would just knock him out again if he asked, so he could stop letting the doubts and fear run around in his head. He doubted it, and was just grateful that they had painkillers, because he did not want to know how he would feel without them at all at present.

Now that the train had stopped, he heard lots of quick footsteps in the hallway between berths, and within a couple of minutes, the door to the one he shared with one other patient—who was currently unconscious and completely useless as a conversationalist—opened, and two medics he had come to know as Joe and Mexo came in. "Welcome home!" Mexo grinned. "Thank you for riding the Amestris Express from the Drachman mountains right to Central. Please enjoy your upcoming stay in the spacious Central Military Hospital, where the drinks are complementary and the nurses are cuter than me."

Charlie snorted a short laugh that ended in a wince as his muscles tightened. The hand might be what was gone, but the rest of him still ached all over from the blast, even with the expertise of the medical alchemist. "That's not hard," he croaked.

Not that Mexo was bad looking, he just wasn't Charlie's type, and he knew the man was just trying to make him feel better with his banter. He was one of the most upbeat medics Charlie had met yet.

"Are our families here?" Charlie asked. They hadn't been told very much on the way here other than they would be going back to Central and admitted to the hospital until they were well enough to go home.

Joe shook his head. "They asked all families to meet you at the hospital. They will be let in to see you once you're checked into your _private suite_."

Charlie hoped he got a room to himself. Given his hand, no one wanted to listen to him whimper all night long. Still, he felt guilty at the relief he felt that no one would be here to meet him. It gave him time to mentally prepare himself for Shelby and his mother, worrying and fretting over him.

* * *

Alyse had been mentally preparing herself for this moment ever since she had gotten the call from Franz telling her about the bombing, and that Charlie's hand had been blown off, and that he was on his way home. While she couldn't have expected Cal to beat him home at the time, that had proven to be a great relief. She had not known Cal without auto-mail. The first day they met had been his first back on duty after almost three years of rehabilitation. Still, he knew how it felt to go through what their son was going through now, and having him there made her feel steadier, more reassured. Like Cal, like Uncle Edward, like Ethan, Charlie could have the functionality back in his missing limb. It would take time, and pain, and effort, but the technology had come a long way, and she knew it would be easier on him that it had been on them—even if easy was extremely subjective.

That did not mean she was ready for the sight of her son in a hospital bed—again—looking battered and beaten, with the stump of his right arm swathed in bandages. Alyse was grateful her parents were staying with Shelby's children, because that meant the three of them could see Charlie first. They were too little to understand.

Shelby was the first one across the room, clutching Charlie's left hand as she sat down on the edge of the bed, murmuring words of concern Alyse could barely make out. So she waited her turn with impatience she tried not to show. Shelby _should_ talk to him first, and Charlie did not look surprised to see them, but he also did not look too happy. Of course, that might just be because he was here, injured, in the hospital. His eyes _were_ riveted adoringly on his wife.

It was only after several minutes that his eyes turned in their direction. "You going to lurk in the corner?" he asked a little louder, his voice rough.

"Just giving you two a little privacy," Cal chuckled heartily as they moved across the room to Charlie's bedside. "I know _I'm_ not the one you want to see first."

Charlie smiled, but it was small and forced. "How did you get home before me?"

"I flew."

"Be serious."

"I am." Cal shrugged. "I'll tell you all about it later, but it's a pretty long and complicated story."

Charlie nodded. "Later's good. I'm really tired."

"Of course you are." Alyse moved in, nudging Cal out of the way so she could give her son a very gentle hug, doing her best to avoid his injured arm, or anywhere else where she could see bandages. She had to fight to keep from fussing over him. He looked terrible, even when she knew he had been operated on and seen to by good doctors. "I'm just glad you're home. Maybe now we can finally be done with this mess in Drachma."

"Done with it?" Charlie frowned. "What about Gloria?"

Alyse smiled. "Safe and here. In fact, she and Alexei are in the waiting room down the hall. They wouldn't let us all in at once."

"How…" Then Charlie glanced at Cal, who nodded once meaningfully, and he closed his mouth. It was all part of that really long and complicated story.

"Do you want to see her?" Alyse offered. "We can send her in when we're done visiting."

Charlie hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. I'd like to see her. We _did_ go to Drachma to save her after all."

He sounded more than tired; he sounded frustrated, and a bit bitter, though Alyse thought that had more to do with his having been sent home wounded rather than getting to actually be a hero and rescue Gloria. She had seen that look on a lot of soldiers' faces over the years. That did not make seeing it on the face of her son any easier.  
It was not a long visit. Mostly because there was not much to say. Never a family for trite comments, Alyse did not try to make small talk. They learned when the doctor joined them that Charlie could be expected to be allowed to go home in a few days. They wanted his body to have more time to heal before they did auto-mail surgery on him. Even with today's modern techniques, it was still a strain on anybody's system. So, they weren't recommending it for anyone until he was ready to handle it, and the physical therapy afterwards. Their estimate was that the surgery could take place in six to eight weeks if he continued to heal as well as he was currently. As Alyse understood it, that was fairly quick.

Cal seemed pleased by that diagnosis certainly, while Charlie just nodded acceptingly, having already heard it.

Finally, she and Cal left, leaving Charlie and Shelby alone for a few minutes.

They paused in the hallway. Cal looked at her. "You okay, 'Lyse?"

She nodded, taking a deep, cleansing breath. "I will be. I've just…never seen him so still. Well, not since the last time I saw him in a hospital bed. Even then he was more spirited." Growing up, Charlie had never been still. Even lying on his bed reading comics he looked like he might spring into action at any moment.

Cal's eyes were full of sympathy. "Give him time. Losing a limb, it's… well, it's not like other injuries. You get shot, sure it hurts, but they remove the bullet and you heal up and everything is mostly normal. Maybe you have a scar and it takes time for the muscles to heal, but unless there's permanent nerve damage, you go mostly back to normal. A limb… pain aside, it takes time for the brain to even figure out its not there, and for you to remember that you can't use it. Processing it all, it's hard to focus on much of anything else. That and they've probably got him drugged to the eyeballs in painkillers and antibiotics. Even when he gets home he'll probably sleep a lot for weeks." He paused. "Then there's the rest of the trauma of the experience. It's not something you prepare for. Just one minute, boom, and you're in agony, and you can't figure out why you can't get up properly and your body's taken a nasty shock." He stopped, then gave himself a quick shake. "Just, give him some time."

"Of course." Alyse accepted a quick hug. "Let's go tell Gloria she can go in, then we can figure out what we'd all like for dinner."

"I'll take us all out," Cal offered. "Presuming you and your daughter can agree on a restaurant."

"You make that sound difficult." Alyse smiled, just a little.

"One that won't break my bank account."

"Oh, I'm sure we can manage."

* * *

Franz had been waiting for all of the Amestrians _officially_ in Drachma to be safely beyond the borders before making this speech. The train of injured may have just arrived in Central, but he had received a report earlier that morning that the rest of the troops in retreat had crossed the border and were now safely at Briggs. The only Amestrians there now— beyond a scattering of private citizens who might still be making their way back—were Ted and Roy who should, by all accounts, be on their way home presuming they weren't dead.

The intelligence that there had been a successful breakout in the Petrayevka prison the same night as a huge explosion at the airplane factory had not been something the government could hide from everyone, particularly not when Franz' people knew to be looking for both. If nothing else, that told Franz that both men had survived at least to the explosion. The fact that they had not been paraded out as prisoners or reported as dead enemies also gave him hope they were still alive.  
Which meant it was time to make another official statement.

So once more he pried himself away from his desk to go to the government press and media room. They had allowed the major news networks to know he was going to be making a statement, so pre-vetted press were already seated, along with a few members of the Assembly, and both of the rescued Ambassadors, who would be presented on television as proof that they were safe. He tried not to smile as he waited for everything to be ready, because Gloria and Alexei—both wearing press passes—were also present. Given their prominent visibility on international television and radio of late, they would also be excellent evidence that the rescue had occurred. They had stepped in at the last minute. Franz knew they had been visiting Charlie in the hospital.

Then it was time, and he was on. "This afternoon I have good news, for the people of Amestris and Creta. A successful rescue was made regarding all parties from both of the Embassies to Drachma. Everyone has been extricated without any further loss, thanks to Gavril Mihalov and those members of the Drachman government who continued to honor their alliances made with Amestris and Creta. As Amestris promised, we did only what we intended. We rescued our people, and Creta's, and have pulled back behind the border, removing our military presence from Drachma. We have kept our word to all sides. To our allies, I wish you the best of luck."

That was it, simple and effective. Franz allowed a moment's silence to let it sink in. "I'm sure you'd like evidence that these claims are true, so I will be turning over our remaining time to our rescued friends and family members, so they may speak for themselves. They will also be happy to answer questions from the Press. First, Ambassador Lita Chalmers." He stepped back as the audience applauded politely.

Franz took a seat off to the side, paying careful attention to the speeches and responses to press questions as Chalmers, followed by the Cretan Ambassador, and finally a more journalistic and non-political take by Gloria and Alexei –complete with a few choice photographs shown on the screen behind them— detailed their experiences in Drachma from their harrowing escape from the city assisted by Mihalov's loaned vehicles and security, and their treatment in Karmatsk and their first-hand experience watching the exiled government at work. Afterwards there was a panel of questions.

"Well, that went well," Tore Closson commented when the broadcast was over and the press was being released from the room. "Savahin must be pissing bricks right now trying to figure out how we got everyone right out from under his nose."

"Especially since not a single one of these people answered the question directly of how they got out of Drachma." Franz nodded, pleased by that, though they had all agreed in advance that they would simply respond with the fact they could not say, because it was classified information. Obviously, since they were here, they had gotten out, and that was what mattered. "Very satisfactory and successful mission… officially."

Tore nodded. Of course, he knew as well as Franz did that Firestorm and Proteus were still somewhere up in Drachma, hopefully making their way home from their other mission which—according to news reports out of Petrayevka—had definitely gone down successfully. There had been a massive prison break, and several explosions at a factory just outside the city. While the news was somewhat vague about details, Franz and his team had been expecting both, so it was hardly a surprise. "I can't wait to hear the rest of the unofficial story first hand."

* * *

Roy had given up on hoping they might have time to pull over and sleep before they hit the Amestrian border. While he had given their initial pursuit the slip by ducking back and forth across the countryside, even spending some time weaving through the southern suburbs of Petrayevka proper again to avoid being noticed, that did not mean that it was safe. At one point, they had stopped long enough to rent a vehicle using some of the money Mihalov had given them for the mission, giving them the comfort of an enclosed truck, and the advantage of an unfamiliar vehicle that would help keep them camouflaged from whoever might still be on their tails.

Not that they would ever manage to return the rental. They had agreed to leave it at the border and hope it got returned by someone else. Though they had to finish driving home first. Other than one stop for gas and a couple of driver swap-outs, they had kept moving consistently south all night. Roy had appreciated the couple of naps he had managed to get during Ted's driving shifts, but they had not been long, because neither of them had gotten enough sleep to pull a long haul.

Now, as the sun was going down again, Roy was back behind the wheel. They were eating cheese-stuffed sausages on buns picked up at a convenience store, covered in pickled cabbage. They were surprisingly good, though Roy did not think they would become a personal favorite.

Ted seemed more absorbed in his thoughts than his meal; a rare circumstance, though Roy was almost certain he knew why. Ted's expression was a dead giveaway.

"I'm sure they got away just fine," Roy commented when he got tired of the silence.

"Huh? Oh…yeah." Ted took a sip of his steaming cup of coffee.

"Don't give me that. I know you're thinking about Anika." Roy glanced over briefly, but quickly put his eyes back on the road. "You know you're just going to drive yourself nuts if all you do is think about her until this is over."

"How good are you at keeping Trisha off your mind?" Ted asked, sounding slightly guarded.

"When she's in danger? I've gotten better at it," Roy admitted, "But it's hard, and this is not the same thing. I know, she's smart, and beautiful, and she even seems to like you, but you barely know each other and her family is full of Drachman patriots and we're leaving the country. Doesn't sound like the best way to start a relationship."

Ted grunted "I appreciate the concern, but we can make our own decisions thank you. The war won't last forever."

"Decisions makes it sound like you've talked enough to do more than flirt at each other." Roy shook his head. "What'd you do, double-time dates with all that strategic planning?"

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ted grin a little. "No, planning was planning. I wasn't even entirely sure she felt the same way I did, to be honest, until we were cleaning up the tiger cage."

The tiger… Roy tried not to think too closely about that. "I had no idea cleaning tiger cages could be considered a romantic date."

"It is when the tiger doesn't mind you borrowing her bed."

Roy almost slammed on the breaks. "Shit, man!" he yanked the wheel just a bit too hard and had to even it out, bringing them back to center. He was grateful no one else was on the lonely stretch of highway.

Ted chuckled. "It wasn't that risky. Anika hand raised the tiger; she's pretty much a giant housecat when she's around."

Roy had never given thought to trying a romantic interlude someplace as public—or potentially deadly—as a predator's cage in the zoo. "Unless she thinks you're hurting her person." Of course, he might be over-reacting. "You didn't do anything to provoke her did you?"

"The tiger or Anika?" Now Ted was grinning.

Roy did not need mental images. Still, he supposed Ted had as much right to a terribly thought out war romance as any other soldier. He did not ask how far they had gotten… he didn't want to know. "You know what, you're crazy, and I don't care. All I care about is getting home in one piece, to my family."

"Lucky you."

There went sulking. "Look, maybe, when this war is over, it'll work out. I don't know. Crazier things have happened, and look how my parents got together? But if you don't stop moping around I am going to throttle you before we get home, and if that happens you will never have any hope of sharing a tiger cage with your Drachman friend again."

"You're a lot more fun when we're drunk."

"Yeah well, even in Drachma it seems like a dumbass idea to drink and drive."


	29. Chapter 29

**February 2** **nd** **, 1990**

Sara had never considered herself to be overly vain. Oh, she'd always cared that she was fit enough for the rigors of State Alchemist duties, and she had been fond of her hair, but she had never spent much time primping. Still, she was looking forward to Will and Ren's return to Central, and what Ren had promised would be the ultimate alchemical spa day, designed to help Sara look and feel more like herself.

If she could do something about her hacked mess of hair, that would be a great improvement right there. No matter what she did, it would be the best birthday present Sara could have asked for, now that she already had what she really wanted, which was to be home. Franz had promised her dinner from her favorite restaurant later. He had gotten reservations for one of their small, private rooms, which meant she could enjoy dining out without being mobbed by the press or stared at by curious civilians.

"It's good to see you, Sara," Will chuckled as he hugged her tightly. "Though I know it's really my wife you're eager to see."

"I missed you, too," Sara refrained from sticking her tongue out as she returned her cousin's hug. "I can still hardly believe you came all the way back from Xing just to say hello."

"And to give you a hug," Will corrected. "I can't do that on the phone."

"It wouldn't be the same," Sara agreed. Her hug for Ren was just as enthusiastic, and then Franz and Will headed out, leaving Sara and Ren alone.

Ren sat down on the couch across from her. "Let's get to business, shall we? There is no reason you can't look like you did eight years ago, if that's what you want."  
All eight… "You can do that?" Sara asked hopefully.

Ren smiled. "There are spas in Xing with alkahestrists on staff for that reason. It's not difficult to naturally rejuvenate someone, any more than it is to heal an injury, particularly in conjunction with the right treatments. I can't make you look twenty, but I can undo some of the damage."

"I don't need to look twenty." Sara could only imagine the stares she would get, looking younger than her own daughter. "Honestly, I'd just like to not look like a half-starved abuse victim… have some of my hair back, and maybe minimize some of the wrinkles?" Given the weight she had lost in prison, coupled with poor nutrition, they were deeper and more lined than she had ever expected.

"All easy enough," Ren assured her as she opened up the suitcase Will had left for her on the table, which proved to be full of a huge variety of Xingese products, most of which were completely unfamiliar to Sara. "We're going to do the full deep treatment on you. When we're done, you'll feel like you again, and I promise you'll enjoy looking in the mirror."

Sara nodded. "I have no idea what we're doing so, just do your thing, I guess." She let herself over into Ren's capable hands. It was a long afternoon in which Ren combined alchemical rejuvenation treatments with herbals and other treatments, many mixed up with alchemy. Every inch of her skin underwent exfoliation and rejuvenation, with special attention paid to her face, hands, and feet. Her hair was washed in two different solutions, then conditioned twice, and then when that was all done, Sara relaxed in the recliner while she was treated to the most unusual fifteen minutes of alchemy she had ever experienced.

Sara had been healed before, but this was an entirely different feeling since she wasn't injured. Though she supposed repairing sun, wind, cold, and age damage was not the same as transmuting a human, just restoring her some to her natural state. There was also the very strange feeling that her scalp was vibrating, stimulated by alchemy.  
Finally, after three hours of intensive work, it was done. "Are you ready to take a look?" Ren asked as she held her hands over Sara's face as they stood in Sara's bathroom.

Sara nodded. "I have never been so curious to look in a mirror in my life."

"All right. Here you go."

Almost at once, tears sprung into the corners of her eyes. Sara stared at the face in the mirror; a much more familiar face, one that did not belong to an ancient hag. It was like she had reverted back to her face of eight years before—possibly a little younger. The wrinkles were not as deep or defined, and some of the elasticity and softness had returned to her skin. Her eyes were no longer sunken, and the damage the weather had done to her skin was gone, leaving its color brighter and less mottled. Spots were gone, her cheeks were lifted a little higher, and her eyelashes were thicker; eyes bright.

But her hair…. Sara couldn't help running her fingers through several inches of thick, soft hair that fell to the top of her shoulders, in a mop of light white-gold-and-silver streaked blond. "I can't believe I have my hair. Thank you." It was soft and thick and bouncy… the way she had always taken care of it. After years of having it hacked off and nothing to wash it with more than bar soap anyway, she had stopped thinking much of it. It was too painful otherwise, but now, it was back, even if it was shorter than it had been, Ren had grown it several inches in a very short amount of time. "I look like me!" Before the kidnapping, she had been perfectly fine with her natural aging process. She'd been fit from teaching combat, and she looked good. The lighter streaks of gold in her hair—much the way her mother's and father's had gone—had never bothered her. Now the lighter platinum was the predominant color, with a few remaining streaks of her darker gold, but her hair was once more long and silky, instead of broken, hacked, and dull. "You know you could make even more money in cosmetology."

"I think Ethan might object to my dumping the rest of the practice," Ren replied. "I'm just glad you like the results. Though you know, we could turn your hair completely back to its original color, if you wanted, or another color if you're feeling daring."

Sara shook her head without hesitating. "Not another color…" but her own? She had never really considered dying her hair, but then, the last time she had looked at it, it had been darker. "I'll have to think about it, take some time to get used to this first and see how I like it." She looked more like her mother than she ever had before, and there was something comforting in that. "Though we should leave it for now. Ian suggested I should not look _too_ recovered for my exclusive television interview, or people will have trouble believing parts of my story."

"That is… probably true," Ren admitted after a moment's thought. "Well, we can discuss anything else you'd like done after that then, but full color restoration is actually not much more difficult than using dye, and it lasts longer."

"Does it?" Sara eyed Ren's raven-dark locks suspiciously. "Is _that_ why no one in your family looks like they age?"

"Do you really expect me to give up imperial secrets?" Ren grinned playfully. "Actually, we just all go gray very late, but yes, these are standard treatments available in Xing, given the number of alkahestrists in the country. Normally we don't do anything this dramatic, but smaller, regular rejuvenation treatments will prolong youthful skin and hair by quite a bit; years really, but by keeping the body healthy instead of with treatments that cover up damage or just minimize it. Products are nice, but they only do so much. If only we had hot springs in Central."

"That sounds heavenly," Sara agreed. "Maybe I can talk Franz into a long, relaxing vacation in Xing when things quiet down."

"You know my family would love to have you."

"I could get used to palace living." Even her home seemed palatial after Drachman prisons. The Imperial Palace in Xing would be incredible. "I definitely don't recommend the insider-tour vacation of the Drachman prison system."

"I think I'll skip that one," Ren agreed.

Their eyes met, and they both laughed.

* * *

Franz had almost forgotten what it felt like to schedule a romantic date. Naturally the restaurant had been more than happy to reserve him one of their private rooms for the evening. It was not a strange request for a President, particularly not when he wanted to treat his wife to a special birthday meal.

There was no being delayed at work; not today. At the end of the day, Franz left his office, locked his door, and told his subordinates not to call him or go looking for him unless someone invaded across the border.

"We've got it, Sir." A nod and a grin assured him it would be fine. "Enjoy your evening."

"I intend to." Though really, it was Sara who needed to have a great time tonight. Franz knew his wife had spent most of the day with Ren, and outside of taking the time to have a cup of coffee with Will and drop him off at Alyse's house, Franz hadn't seen either of them much. He knew they were staying for a couple of weeks, so there would be time to be a better host and family member later; tonight was all about Sara.

He had no idea what to expect when he came in the door of his home, other than that he knew Sara would be waiting for him to take her to dinner, so she and Ren must have had a lot of confidence in Ren's ability to make Sara feel like being seen.

Franz was still not prepared for the much more familiar face that awaited him, smiling as he stopped dead in the doorway. For several moments he could not take his eyes off of her; her eyes, her _hair…._ any make-up was minimal, but she looked like a whole new person—like the Sara he had last seen getting on a train to go to West City. She looked vibrantly restored, even if her hair was still much shorter than it had been. It was long enough that it had been simply styled and left down, and in being down, it lightly brushed her shoulders instead of being a hacked and uneven mess only a couple of inches long.

She wore one of her dressy separate tops in a deep green, with a long black wool skirt that covered her heavily bandaged knee. A necklace of twisted gold that ended in an emerald pendant, and her wedding ring, were the only jewelry. Not that she had ever worn much. One brief bit of gratitude—in all the heartache—that he felt now was that to make the fake believable, they had taken off Sara's ring, and her pocket watch, and left them on the body, so those had come home to him. He'd had the ring cleaned and tucked away carefully. Now, it was back where it belonged.

Apparently, he had been staring too long, because she smiled a little nervously. "How do I look?"

"Breathtaking." He crossed the floor in a few steps and took her into his arms, letting the kiss say all the things he was feeling in that moment more eloquently than words. "Maybe I shouldn't take you out," he teased when their lips parted. "Someone may try to steal you away from me."

Sara's face was flush with pleasure, but she gave him a skeptically arched eyebrow. "Now that I find unlikely. I've been waiting for _years_ for this dinner date, so no backing out now."

"No, definitely not," he agreed. She had been standing when he came in, but he knew she wouldn't be able to do that all evening. The wheelchair—which thankfully folded down for transport—was already in the back of the car, just in case. He would not embarrass her by insisting she use it just to get to the car. "Shall we go, my love?"

"Let's." She smiled. "If nothing else, we'll cause a huge stir in the gossip columns with me being out and about before I'm even fully healed. Maybe it will put to rest the ridiculous rumors that I'm a broken, sobbing mess whose brains were addled by her trials." There was a wry twist at the end. He knew those rumors irritated her as much as the suggestions of being a traitor had enraged her.

Together, they made their way to the door and out to the car. "Your interview with Lisa Phillips in two days will put a lot of that to rest, I imagine," he pointed out, grateful to Ian for arranging it all, and so efficiently. Sara was determined to take control of her own situation, and that was one major step towards it. "Live broadcasting, and doing so this quickly, will give the gossipers and conspiracy theorists much less to go on."

Sara nodded as he helped her into the car, then went around to the driver's side and got in. "Once they hear what I have to say, whatever they want to say, they're going to have to deal with some very uncomfortable facts. I'll also give them a few hares to chase… like how the heck none of them even picked up on the fact that my murder was actually a kidnapping. Some investigative reporters they are."

"Don't expect more of them than military intelligence," Franz scolded gently as he pulled out of the driveway and headed towards the restaurant. "If we didn't figure it out, they had no hope. Though you can bet that a certain pair of investigative reporters with personal experience in this Drachman mess may be looking into it when they have the opportunity." Gloria and her fiancé had proven to have a lot of the grit he remembered from the old war correspondents that had followed them on campaigns, reporting the news at risk to their own lives.

Sara looked pleased, but unsurprised. "Oh, they will. Gloria's already asked to help me write a complete book about my experiences… a lot of it, anyway."

That would not be an easy read, but Franz could see where a lot of people would want to know what it had been like. Even if it irritated him that they would find it more a curiosity, an educational read, than the horrible reality that it had been.

Sara laid a hand on his arm, and he realized the muscles had stiffened. "I want to share the story, Franz. People need to know. A lot of the prisoners there with me were just what I was, a political inconvenience…not even criminals. It's a story no one hears, and I can be the one to tell it."

His brave girl. Franz relaxed. "Gloria better do it justice then. I expect it'll be a bestseller."

"I intend it to be." Sara grinned smugly. "I want to outsell Dad."

 **February 3** **rd** **, 1990**

Three birthdays and an anniversary were more than enough reasons to have one big bash while everyone was still in Central. The fact that one of those birthdays was Sara's meant that it needed to be a step above, if only because it had been so long since she'd had a birthday celebration.

Ethan and Lia had handled hosting the party, which he knew would take the stress off a lot of other members of the family who were having a much more complicated couple of months than Ethan had. With no small children in the house, and the family mostly pulled back out of Drachma, and so many of them here having been part of the war, and others up to see Sara well… it was just easiest for all concerned. Not that everyone wasn't involved. After all, there was plenty of food to prepare! Not much else was needed for an extended-family-and-friends get together.

Which did not mean that others had not decided to go all out. Especially the kids, who decided that a party required balloons and streamers, and had decorated Ethan's house—with permission—in a riot of color that more than made up for the bleak February drizzle outside. Rosa had led the way, organizing streamers, balloons, and one huge banner for each birthday, and his parents' anniversary, which made four of them strung up around the room.

The dining table was quickly groaning with everyone's family favorite foods—which these days made for a fascinating variety of dishes, and multiple desserts—and while almost everyone arrived late in the day, when they did, it was a constant trickle of happy faces, with most of the stresses of the past couple of months temporarily put out of sight, and out of mind.

"You look amazing," he complimented Sara as he hugged his sister on her way in the door.

"It's all Ren's work," Sara chuckled, returning the hug. "I feel a lot more like myself this way."

"Well you're definitely recognizable," Ian commented with a grin as he pushed through the crowd of family. "You'll look great on camera tomorrow."

"Great as in attractive, or great as in convincing?" Sara asked.

Ian paused for a moment, blinking. Then he grinned. "Both. And I've already arranged with the studio to have Bonnie do you up for the interview." He held out an arm, and his wife appeared beside him. Ethan got out of the way. "Aunt Sara, this is Bonnie. Bonnie this is…my amazing aunt."

Ethan watched as Bonnie held out a hand and found herself pulled into one of Sara's firm hugs. "You have no idea how happy I am to meet you," Sara smiled warmly as she let Bonnie go. "Ian can't seem to go two sentences without mentioning your name."

Bonnie laughed, and in a moment the two were conversing like old friends.

Ethan had a feeling his sister and Bonnie would get along well. Moving away from that group as they edged further into the room so Sara could sit in the recliner-of-honor, he wiggled his way toward the table, and found himself next to Trisha, who seemed to be staring introspectively at the cheese platter.

"I didn't know cheese was such a serious decision," he commented quietly to his niece, who jumped slightly.

Trisha smiled. "Sorry, Uncle Ethan. I was just wondering when we'll hear from Roy and Ted."

Of course, she was worried about her husband, and her cousin, but primarily her husband. In the short days since the news of a massive jailbreak in Petrayevka, and even more massive explosions outside the city that intelligence had confirmed was the airfield and plane factories, there had been not a word from either alchemist. Not that they could expect anything until they hit the Amestrian border. It was a several day trip from Petrayevka to Briggs even by train. It could be weeks before they heard any news.

"I'm sure they'll contact us as soon as they possibly can," he assured her, not bringing up the thing he knew she feared, that something might have gone wrong, and one or both of them could very well be dead. "If they'd been caught, it would be all over the Drachman news about how we had spies in their country and blowing up their facility is an act of warfare. They need a scapegoat for the mess, and they don't have any of our men to use. So, I'd place my money on them being too smart to be seen until they're safe out of enemy territory. Then we'll hear something, and I'm sure it'll be some harrowing tale full of bravado and heroism, wildly exaggerated for our benefit."

At that, Trisha chuckled. "You're right. I feel like I'd know if he was dead… I just can't stand the waiting."

"That's almost always the worst part," Ethan agreed. Someday, he would be happy no to be waiting and wondering and concerned about someone in his family. He was pretty sure that day would never come. Elrics and those who would marry them were not prone to 'staying out of things.'

* * *

Edward had lost count of the number of hours he had spent in his life standing by the large glass windows that looked out over the backyard of this very house. Good memories, and more melancholy ones, but many introspective moments had been spent in contemplation of those gardens, now sleeping, and remembering thousands of memories made in that space. Now he stood beside them, one arm around Winry's shoulders, just enjoying an incredible sense of peace. No, the world was not peaceful, and not everyone was safe at home, but there had been far worse, and having Sara back…recovering… it made him feel younger than he had in a long time. A thought that made him wonder when he had started thinking of himself as old.

Somewhere between eighty and ninety he decided, when he'd realized his children were middle-aged, and he might, in fact, live to the end of the century if he kept on in the health he had.

When his grandchildren started having children.

When he'd looked around and realized that most of his close friends were gone.

Hughes. Havoc. Mustang. Breda. Armstrong. Izumi. Sig. Gracia… a litany of state alchemists and their family members who had gone before.

A list which had, for too long, included his baby girl… who had been returned to them when it seemed impossible.

His daughter, who was sitting with them once more, laughing and joking and teasing and having a wonderful time, amazingly unbroken— if not quite whole.

There were only four people in the crowd left in his generation, and the only one markedly older than himself was Riza, who had turned one-hundred this past year.

"You're looking introspective," Winry commented quietly beside him.

Ed turned his head just a little, and saw her smiling at him in that knowing way she had since they were teenagers, as if she knew what he was really thinking. Which, she probably did. He smiled back. "Just feeling grateful for everything we have."

 **February 4** **th** **, 1990  
**

Sara had been interviewed before, and she had been to filming sets before—mostly as Ian's chaperone to and from work as a teenager—but she had never before been the subject of a live television broadcast. A few years ago, she might have been nervous. Now…well, no one was going to be shooting at her or breaking her leg with a bat, so how bad could it possibly be?

Channel Four's Lisa Phillips, their prime-time interview host, was proving to be the level-headed, respectful professional that Ian had promised, as they sat on the set across from each other in two comfortable armchairs, going over the questions Lisa wanted to ask, to verify beforehand how they wanted the flow of the conversation to go. She actually wanted Sara's input, and if she didn't like a question, it was reworded or removed. It was very different from dealing with the bedlam of reporters at military news hearings.

Sara was grateful not to be in her wheelchair, though the bulk of the bandaging around her knee was visible under the long military-blue skirt she had chosen for the interview. While she was not in uniform, she had chosen an outfit that purposefully implied her military status—her renewed status—as a general of the Amestrian army, and a State Alchemist. The skirt and the matching dress jacket were blue. The hint of a dress shirt underneath was a cream just one shade shy of golden-yellow. Her hair was down—there was not much else that could be done with it—and smoothed, without a hair out of place, but simple. The make-up—a necessity under stage lights, she understood—made Sara look natural; the way she had always looked in military briefings and any official photographs. She looked professional, and like herself, but they hadn't tried to hide that her experiences had been harrowing, which was the last thing she wanted. The people needed to see the face of someone who had been through hell, and come back again; to believe in the sincerity and honesty of what she had to say.

The audience was also not without its supporters. Franz, Ian, and Bonnie were standing just off stage. Her parents, Ethan, Lia, Aldon, and Cassie all had seats in the front row, by invitation of the station. She could not have felt safer if they had secured the doors with military police.

Which they had because Franz was in the building and the fact that they were filming here was no secret since the channel had been advertising it for days.

"Are you ready?" Lisa asked with a smile as they finished going through the questions, and a stage hand filled the cups of water sitting on the table between the two chairs.

Sara nodded.

A moment later the director took over, and she heard someone say they were going live, and count down…

Lisa turned and looked out at the audience, right at one of the cameras. "Welcome to Talk Tonight! This evening we have the honor of being the first newscast to speak with General Sara Heimler, state alchemist, wife of our esteemed President Franz Heimler, and rescued prisoner of war, who up until very recently, was presumed dead." She turned to Sara, and smiled genuinely. "Welcome, Sara. Or should I say, welcome home."

"Thank you, Lisa," Sara smiled back. "I appreciate your accepting my request to speak with you."

"It's my pleasure," Lisa assured her. "I know everyone is dying to hear what you have to say. As you can imagine, there have been a lot of questions. The big ones, and then we've also been soliciting viewer questions for the past several days through the phones, and have chosen some of those for later in the program."

"Sounds wonderful," Sara agreed, having already seen them. "Let's get to it then."

Lisa nodded. "Eight years ago, we were devastated by shock of what was, in recent times, one of the boldest terrorist attacks against a State Alchemist or a military installation, in decades. The Hashman Syndicate blew up a warehouse in West City and, as far as the rest of us knew, killed every military officer in the building, you included. Now, clearly, we know that is not what happened. What can you tell us?"

Not a push for more information than she was willing to give, and not an implication that she should spill any military secrets. Perfectly phrased. "It was a set-up from the word go," Sara replied. "The building was in flames, and people were shooting in our direction. As I tried to avoid burning debris and gunshots, someone got in a blow to my head, and I passed out. From there, I've been told that a body was found, but my next memory is waking up in a cell, bound and gagged. They'd faked my death, for their own reasons."

"How did you feel?"

"Furious." Sara gave a short laugh. "Dizzy from being hit on the head, but mostly angry. I've been shot at plenty of times, but I wasn't used to losing. It's not something we're trained to do."

That got a rumble of soft chuckles out of the rest of the live audience.

"Were you afraid?"

"Of course." Sara nodded. "No one in their right mind wouldn't be, but I was more concerned with what they were going to do to me next, and if I could escape. Which, obviously, did not happen since they had thought things through."

"Did they ever tell you what they wanted with you?"

"Information, and the chaos my reported death would cause. They never said anything about using me as a hostage, though I suspect it was in the back of their minds. After all, they didn't kill me, even when I wouldn't talk, no matter what they did to me. I kept expecting them to do it, and they didn't."

"Do you know how long they tortured you?"

"Several months," Sara replied. "They moved me a couple of times too, and I was never sure where at the time, not until they dumped me in a Drachman maximum security prison. After a few more months, it seemed like they had just forgotten about me. I know _now_ that they stopped coming right about the time the combined Amestrian-Xingese forces ended the coup in Xing, and blew up the Syndicate's secret headquarters. It seems, at that point, that the Drachmans had little interest in what happened to me, except that they weren't going to let me go."

"Why do you think the government didn't step in?" Lisa asked.

"I don't think the legitimate Drachman government even knew I was there," Sara replied honestly. "The first prison was a privately owned one. Probably whoever was in league with the Syndicate. After they were destroyed, well, being associated with them wouldn't look very good, would it? It was better for them to forget I existed. So, I was transferred, more than once."

"Do you know why?"

At that, Sara grinned. "Probably because I kept blowing holes and leading revolts and causing them a lot of trouble. That's why they blocked my alchemy…and why they destroyed my leg." She gestured at her knee, and she knew that one camera was panning down to give the viewers a shot of the bulky-wrapped knee under skirt fabric.

"That, and locking me up in solitary confinement for weeks at a time. Re-breaking the leg was a favorite way of keeping me immobile." The quiet gasps of horror from the audience were gratifying, and she was sure they would be picked up by the microphones.

"Is the damage permanent?" Lisa asked sympathetically.

"Some of it. Thankfully, our brilliant medical engineers here in Central tell me they can replace part of my knee with a modified, internal auto-mail knee. It's a groundbreaking new design. I'll be undergoing surgery to repair the damage and install the new structure. After physical therapy, I should have a lot of my mobility back, though that will take several months."

"That must be frustrating."

"Honestly, I've been hobbling around on it without pain relief for more than half a decade, thinking it was permanent. While the waiting does get frustrating, I'm much more excited about the possibility of being able to walk and run again, and get back to doing something productive."

"Do you know what you'd like to do?"

"Ideally, I'd love to go back to helping train Amestris' State Alchemists. Physically, that may or may not be possible. If not, I'll have plenty on my plate anyway, serving as the wife of the President of the Military and, I hope, depending on how things turn out in Drachma, bringing the inequalities and brutality of their prison system to light, so the government can fix what is clearly a broken system… full of many people who were not legitimately criminals. I was not the only politically-inconvenient prisoner lost and forgotten in a work camp in the frozen north."

"Worthy goals." Lisa's expression continued to be professional, but also sympathetic. "Were you surprised to find out your husband was President?"

"Absolutely." Sara allowed a more sincere, open laugh. "Not that I ever doubted he'd have been good at it, after working with Mustang, Breda, and Rehnquist. I'm just grateful he called in the strike team that rescued me, when there was no reason to believe it was actually me at all."

"About that… tell us about your rescue, and how you ended up in Petrayevka."

This was the part that had required the most careful pre-planning. "To answer the second part first, I was taken there by Valhov himself, though he only used a code name in my hearing. He was one of the Drachmans who had been secretly in league with the Syndicate, and when planning for the coup ramped up, he pulled me out of the prisons and made me his personal prisoner, offering me minor comforts if I would give him information. It was a chance to regain my strength, to find out what was going on in the world. I pretended to go along with it, feeding him subtle misinformation; things that would seem to check out. That worked until he started demanding things I couldn't hedge, and I told him no." She paused then, and took a sip of her water.

"After that, they went back to torture methods, and drugged me, and I lost track of a few months. Then, as you've probably already heard some reports, I was rescued. I never would have expected it, but I didn't realize I was in a populated area either. Amestrian intelligence agents, who had been hiding in the city undercover, were sent to where I was when intelligence traced the television broadcast. They snuck in and pulled me out, and took me back to the vehicle they had waiting. By the time I was lucid and conscious, we were already a hundred miles away."

"An amazing rescue," Lisa nodded enthusiastically. "It is truly incredible that you held on all this time. Now, I understand there is something you would like to say, to address those who still have questions about what information was, or was not given, to the Drachmans under torture."

"There is." Sara took that moment to turn and look at the pre-determined camera that was more out-front towards the crowd. "I can understand why, given the current situation, people would wonder, and question. I do not blame anyone for that, or for their fear or suspicion, but I have never been, and never will be, a traitor to my country. I was prepared to die, and indeed expected to die, for years. It did not happen. If Valhov had not overplayed his hand and revealed that I might not, in fact, be dead, then I probably would be dead now. I am just grateful for a country that wasn't willing to let even a probable fake die needlessly, because Amestris is better than that."

"Thank you, Sara."

From there, they moved into the questions from viewers that had been collected via phone and from that day's audience, which was much more of a mishmash of non-political interest questions and concerns; including what kind of food and sleep accommodations existed in Drachman prisons, the type of work they made her do, how many times she had tried to escape. Those, she included a few details of the almost-successful ones. The ones that made the most interesting stories, and spotlighted some of those who had tried to escape with her, as the victims they truly were. There were questions about if she was happy to see her family again, and what she wanted to do now that she was free.

Finally, it was done, she was thanked, and they went to the final commercial.

"How was that?" she asked, as Franz materialized beside her to help her up and off stage.

"Perfect," Lisa assured her with a bright smile as she walked beside them. "The people will eat it up, not only because it's true, but because they will want to believe you. You've become a bit of a legend in the past few years, and no one wants to think of legends as flawed, real people, but they start to lose some of what made them that way in the first place over time. You've shown them you're real, and you didn't talk down to them. You didn't get defensive, and you were kind, compassionate, and brave, but human. It's the perfect balance."

"I was just being myself," Sara pointed out, focusing on remaining balanced until they got off-stage, and he eased her down into the wheelchair.

"Which is exactly everything she said." Franz grinned. "You were wonderful."


	30. Chapter 30

**February 5** **th** **, 1990**

Alphonse had no idea how much time his family had spent over the years saying hellos and goodbyes on train platforms, but he was certain it amounted to years. Today was no exception. In the misty, chill early morning hours he stood on one, yet again, as they said farewells to family members heading in two separate directions, on different trains, though both were leaving within the same half hour.

Aldon and Cassie were heading back to Resembool, which needed its mayor after all. Edward and Winry, who were staying through Sara's surgery, were there to say goodbye, even if it wouldn't be too much longer before they returned home as well. Sara had said goodbye at the house, since Franz had refused to let her go through the ordeal of coming all the way to the station, particularly immediately after last night's interview, which had already been replayed on the late night show, and was all over the morning news.

When Alphonse turned away from them, to his own cluster of family, Elicia, Alyse, and Cal were saying much more urgent and heartfelt goodbyes to Gloria and Alexei. The couple needed to get back to North City, and back to their work, which would almost certainly include continuing to cover the events unfolding in Drachma, given how much they had already done. Al was proud and impressed at how boldly they had taken over as international investigative correspondents, getting involved in a conflict and reporting the truth because it needed to be out there. It was just the kind of thing he and Ed would have done, but with more skill.

Al and Elicia were staying even longer than Ed and Winry, since with Charlie badly injured the family could certainly use the help.

Alyse was giving Gloria one last long, motherly hug. "I'm just sorry we couldn't have a big party to celebrate your engagement," she said as she finally loosened her hold on her daughter.

Gloria smiled with indulgent patience. "It's fine, Mom. You can just over-plan the wedding, okay? Make it big, and fabulous, and make Daddy sorry he offered to pay for it."

Alphonse hid a smile as Cal looked slightly concerned for a moment, before Cal also chuckled and hugged his daughter one last time.

"I could never be sorry," Cal assured her. "Now, you two try and avoid any more international incidents, okay?"

He might have been scolding children for eating sweets before dinner, for all the casualness in his tone.

It was Alexei who answered, with a grin. "No promises. That's where all the good stories are. However, I can promise we'll keep at a safer distance for the time being."

"Good." Cal and Alexei shook hands, then Alexei and Gloria mounted the steps, and vanished onto the train.

When Al turned back around, Aldon and Cassie had already disappeared off to their train. Edward and Winry had joined him. "So, what now?" he asked.

"Breakfast." Ed grinned. "We got up early and I don't know about you, but I can't subsist on a single cup of coffee, and we thought we'd hit that little café over on Broad Street."

"The one with the fresh-brewed loose tea and pastries? Oh, I love that place!" Elicia chimed in.

"Mind if I join you?" Alyse asked. "I don't need to be back at the hospital until late morning."

"Mind? Of course, we don't mind," Al assured his daughter. It was a shame Cal couldn't join them, but there was far too much going on at HQ these days for him to be off.  
Alyse and Cal kissed briefly, and then Alyse got in the car with the others, and they headed away from the station, parking just down the street from the café, when there was not a spot right in front.

Al was not at all surprised when Ed paused at the newsstand two doors down from the café, and bought one of each of that days' newspapers, all of which seemed to be featuring an article on Sara somewhere above the fold, even if it wasn't the primary story.

"I want to know what people are saying," Ed explained unnecessarily. "Get a feel for which way public opinion is blowing."

"Did I ask?" Al smiled.

They got a larger, corner table, and it only took a couple of minutes for everyone to have a hot steaming drink and the breakfast pastry of their choice in front of them.

"So, what are they saying?" Al asked as he sipped a smooth, black cup of citrusy Xing tea, and nibbled at a hot, buttery croissant.

Ed was pouring through the articles with his usual efficient reading speed, his brow furrowed in concentration, though he did not look upset. He hadn't yet touched his coffee, or the giant cinnamon roll beside it. "So far most of the reactions seem to be positive, or neutral," he admitted as he sat back and reached for his coffee. "The big papers are running excerpts, except the affiliate with the news station, which is running the entire transcript of the interview, with commentary. Most of them are towing the smart line, calling her heroic, fortunate, brave, determined, the usual things you would expect. They are still calling her rescue a miracle, mostly that she survived so long."

"Has anyone asked any more about the rescue?" Winry asked curiously.

Ed shook his head. "Only one query on the inside page, rather buried, commenting on how it's a pity the details of the rescue operation will probably remain classified until the news is so old it will be a dusty historical fact."

"I think you can probably count on that," Elicia chuckled softly.

"I'm surprised there aren't more stories yet," Winry admitted as she flipped through a paper herself.

"Just wait," Alyse assured them, sipping a coffee that seemed to be at least half foaming milk. "The magazines are waiting for more information, and to see how the primary media spins things. Then there will be features on her, especially in the women's magazines. I noticed in the paper on our doorstep this morning they were already talking about how you could tell how much she had been through, but how calm she was, and how inspiring, and how quickly she's recovering. The fact that she talked about going back to training alchemists, and isn't planning to hide behind Franz or wilt away—they'll play that up. They'll probably want more photos too. I'd be amazed if someone doesn't try to talk her into a shoot, or pay top dollar for any images they can get."

"Sara's promised all of her primary material to Gloria and Alexei," Winry pointed out, "And photography for that work to Callie. So that means Callie will be the one making top dollar for her images."

Al liked that idea. "I'm surprised that there's no one saying this is still a conspiracy. I mean, you'd expect it, even if it is nonsense."

"I doubt they've given up." Ed paused to take a long sip of his drink. "They're just going to get drowned in the flood of approval. Only the truth and time will prove otherwise. It's a good thing Sara's up for it."

"Is she really?" Alyse asked softly. "No offense to her. I mean, she's incredible, but after everything she's been through, that's a lot for anyone."

Winry answered that one with a patient smile. "Of course, it is, but no, Sara's not putting a good face on it. She's been through hell before; we all have. She knows it takes time to heal, mentally as well as physically, and she's had years to adjust. For us, she's come back from the dead with a tale of what to use seems like eight years of torture. But for her, she's just been surviving and living. Some of it was awful, and none of it was good, but she survived, and she can keep living and getting back to what she loves. Like you said, that inspires people. It was also inspired by the people before her, who trained her, and who know what she's capable of."

Trained her, and raised her. Sara was Ed and Winry's daughter to the core, and Al had never seen her more purely honed, more determined, more like her parents, than she was now. Drachma had broken her body, but not her spirit. "So, the knee surgery is tomorrow," Al commented, bringing the conversation around to what he was curious about. "You've really managed to narrow it down to one?"

" _If_ everything goes well." Winry nodded. "Once they figured out that they could replace the bone with auto-mail parts, and the best way to encourage healing alchemically once its properly in place and the muscles are growing back together, Ethan is fairly confident the rest of the treatment can be done using alchemy, as they have been. There will be a lot of removal of scarred tissue, and bone splinters, but since this knee replacement does not require it to be attached to anything electrically—it's all mechanical—there's no concern about rejection. Physical therapy afterwards should only be a few months, rather than the years you would expect from any regular auto-mail surgery."

"That's amazing! I'm impressed."

"It's almost entirely Coran and Gale's work," Winry pointed out, though she was still clearly pleased. After all, it just proved what good hands Rockbell Auto-Mail was in. "It's an incredible piece of work. It won't rust, and it won't catch. It's stronger than a regular knee joint, but it is about the same weight so it will feel and work the same. It should take less time to adjust to, since it shouldn't affect balance much."

"It would have been nice to have this level of consideration in technology when you were designing my ports," Ed quipped.

Al didn't bother to hide his grin as Winry thwapped Ed with a napkin. "There have been over eighty _years_ of Auto-mail development since we designed your ports. It's a testament to my genius that they're still working and you're still mobile."

"I know, I know."

"Some things never change," Elicia chuckled softly as they watched the two of them quibble as Ed placated his wife.

"Thank goodness for that."

SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK

Franz hated going to work, even knowing that Sara wasn't entirely alone in the house or—no matter how it seemed to him—unable to take care of herself. However, there was only so much time he could take away from his office and still expect the military to run properly. Even with the situation to the North of them, the rest of Amestris did not stop existing. Concerns that had needed his attention before Drachma had started violently imploding, still required him. Today, he knew, Ren and Will were keeping Sara company until the rest of the family got home that evening, and Ed and Winry would be there for much of the day as well. If she needed anything, she had caring family immediately at hand.

That did not make it any easier to concentrate, or to keep his anxiety from randomly spiking, often for no discernable reason. Sara was fine. It was, he assured himself, only natural to be concerned about the upcoming surgery, and the recovery afterwards. She would be unconscious for several hours while they replaced and repaired her mangled knee. Afterwards, well, it would be weeks before she was allowed to do more than minimal work with it, and months before she was really walking.

Just the thought of someone putting her under, and cutting her open, after all she had been through…

So he found himself hurrying home as soon as he could get out of the office, which was so late he was certain he had missed dinner thanks to a long-running meeting with several of his Generals, followed by another with members of the Assembly. It was already dark, and the chill of the morning had turned into a cold rain.

The only person in the living room when Franz came through the door was Sara, sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on a plump footstool, with the news on the television.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Franz apologized as he took off his coat and hung it up to dry before going over and bending down to kiss his wife. "Where is everyone?"

Sara returned the kiss. "Gone home mostly. James and Krista are upstairs putting Aithne to bed. There's still leftovers if you're hungry."

"I'll get some," Franz promised, though the news caught his attention. He supposed he should not have been surprised that the current report was about to be followed by the nightly program's coverage and response to Sara's interview last night. "Are you sure you want to watch this?"

Sara surprised him with a smug grin. "Are you kidding? I haven't gotten this much free press since I snuck onto a battle field when I was a teen."

That was when Franz noticed a pile of newspapers, all folded open to the relevant articles, lying on the couch beside her. He had heard enough over the course of the day to know that most of it was positive. Now he wasn't sure why Sara would have found people's opinions of her distressing. "I seem to recall some punk kid showing up and talking our commanding officer into letting her show off."

"Go get food and come sit with me."

Franz did as he was ordered. Dinner turned out to be the remains of a large chopped salad with a light vinaigrette dressing, and herbed baked chicken. "Who cooked?" he asked curiously as he sniffed the meat. It smelled delicious, but the spice mix was not a blend he was familiar with. He took a tentative bite. "It's really good."

"I'm glad you like it," Sara replied, "Because I did."

Franz managed not to drop the plate, or exclaim an objection that she shouldn't be pushing herself. Obviously, she was fine, and perfectly capable of doing things as long as she took her time and worked around her injuries. "I haven't had it this way before. New recipe?"

Now, Sara looked momentarily nervous. "Old actually, but not mine. It's Drachman. I asked Alexei for some of his family recipes before he and Gloria left. They… well it tastes familiar now. It's weird, but not everything I had in Drachma was terrible. Mostly it's just in the balance of spices, and a hint of cloves and cinnamon."

Drachma. Even the word spiked his blood pressure these days. How Sara could like anything from that hellhole— Franz took a deep, slow breath, and decided the smartest thing to do was to just keep eating.

Sara sidled closer and leaned against him when he finished, clearly taking comfort in his presence. Franz relaxed a little, slipping his right arm around her shoulders. "I'm nervous," she admitted.

Franz squeezed her gently. "Everything will go just fine tomorrow. Ethan and Gale will both be in the room with you, along with the other surgeon. Nothing's going to happen to you." Maybe if he said it calmly enough, he would believe it too.

Sara nodded. "I know I'm safe. I know it can only be an improvement over this mess of a leg. I'm not worried about the surgery as much as just… being drugged unconscious for that long. I'll be helpless. Even knowing I will be surrounded by safe people I can't seem to convince my instincts that this isn't a dangerous situation. I've been trying to keep my mind on other things all day."

"Like dinner, and your newfound celebrity?"

Sara poked him playfully in the side with a finger. "Hey, you try coming back from presumed death and see how the world treats you. So far, I've been everything from a saint and hero to a wild conspiracy theory. Funny how a couple of those didn't turn out to be at all unrealistic. Too bad those weren't the ones that caught on. They make me sound like a superhero or a minor goddess."

"Well, you have at least one worshiper."

Sara's face flushed with pleasure. "Does that mean you'll do anything I wish?"

Franz looked her in the eyes, his glasses slipping slightly as he turned his head. "Sara, I'm not sure I will ever be able to say no to anything you want ever again."

"I'm sure I'll come up with something you say no to eventually," Sara countered. "Though tonight I was hoping to distract us both. That is, unless you're going to say no to worshiping me up close."

Even if he had wanted to say no—which he did not—his body would not have let him. "Would you prefer to walk, or be carried, my goddess?"

"It's been a long day. You may carry me."

 **February 6** **th** **, 1990**

The good thing about being under medical anesthetic, was there was no sense of time, no consciousness, no dreams… or nightmares. One moment, Sara was nervously forcing herself to seem calm as the drugs were administered, the next, she was waking up in a recovery room. Groggy, but without pain, thanks to what she was certain were extremely potent painkillers.

Even before she opened her eyes, she sensed people. Years of her survival depending on situational awareness had sharpened already heightened senses. In this case, the familiar breathing, and the smell of aftershave identified Franz. Knowing that no one else would have been allowed in to see her aside from medical professionals until now, she suspected at least one of the other people in the room was Ethan, and the third was probably a nurse. If there were others, she couldn't tell.

She opened her eyes to discover that all of her guesses were right. Franz was sitting next to her, looking tense. Ethan however, had his usual calm smile that told her all she needed to know about how well the surgery had gone. Not that she wasn't going to ask. "So, what's the prognosis, Doc?"

"That whoever was trying to cripple you never counted on alkahestry or auto-mail," Ethan quipped, as the nurse adjusted the IV bag, and was otherwise preoccupied with the diagnostic equipment off to one side, just out of Sara's view. "The replacement went as well as we could have hoped, and we were able to remove a lot of damaged tissue and all the broken bone splinters, and smooth out the edges of anything we could leave. It's not going to look pretty, but once it heals it will look almost normal except for the incision scars."

"What, you couldn't get rid of those too?" Sara teased; the last word broken by an ear-splitting yawn.

"Well if you can already be snarky, at least I know you came out of anesthesia just fine." Ethan came closer to the bed. "You'll be here for another two or three days, just for observation and to make sure everything's healing properly, and then you'll be able to go home. We should be able to keep the original plan of letting it heal for the next six weeks, and then starting full physical therapy as long as everything looks healed up enough by then."

Once that would have sounded like an eternity. "I'll be ready," Sara assured him.

Beside her, Franz was still quiet, and as she started to focus better, Sara noticed how strained he still looked around the eyes; the tension in his body.  
Ethan finished marking a couple of things on the chart in his hands, including some information from the nurse. "Well, all your vitals look good, and there's no sign of infection. We'll have you on painkillers and antibiotics for the next couple of weeks. The first you can take as needed, the second is a requirement."

Sara smiled. "Yes, sir."

Ethan chuckled. "As soon as we're sure everything is moving properly, you'll be cleared for solid food. If you're hungry now, I can have approved food sent up."

Which meant broth and juices, Sara knew from experience, until her digestive system demonstrated it was working. "I'll take anything you'll give me." She hadn't eaten anything since the night before, in preparation for surgery, and now she could already feel her stomach rumbling. "My stomach is definitely working."

"I'll see that it's done then." Ethan promised, and a moment later he and the nurse left, leaving Sara alone with Franz. The door closed behind them.

Sara turned her full attention on her husband. "Are you all right?" she asked bluntly.

Franz blinked, startled. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" he asked, smiling weakly.

"You have an entire monitor of readouts, Ethan's word, and mine, that I'm fine," Sara pointed out. " _You_ look worse than I feel. Was it that nerve-wracking?"

Franz hesitated a moment, then reached out, hugging her close, his grip firm even though he barely tightened his arms around her. "Facts and logic don't convince my instincts that I wasn't going to lose you again."

Sara raised her arms enough to wrap them around him awkwardly. They could only go so far, hooked up to the IV. Franz smelled heavily of cheap hospital coffee. "Time," the word came unbidden. "Give it time. Give us time. Someday the last few years will seem like a distant dream, not unlike most of our childhoods." Most of her life here had begun to feel like a dream years ago, in the stark reality of Drachman prison, but she didn't say that. "When I'm mobile again, think of all the things we can do to make new, happier memories?"

The sound that came from Franz' throat was oddly strangled, and Sara could not decide if Franz had coughed, laughed, or sobbed, but it was only a single utterance. "We'll do anything you want," he promised finally, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Let's start with taking walks in the park," Sara suggested, even as her mind spawned images of travel, evenings dancing, working out at the gym at Headquarters, romantic evenings in bed that weren't hindered by injuries… "Maybe we should get a new puppy." She suspected Aithne would love that as much as Sara would.

Franz sat back, looking at her closely as if trying to determine if she were serious. "A puppy."

"Are you going to tell me no already?"

That brought a smile to his face. "No. I was just going to ask, what breed?"

"Something small," Sara assured him. "I thought I'd see if any of Riza's dogs, or their grand-puppies, have puppies."

"I'll see what I can do."


	31. Chapter 31

**February 7** **th** **, 1990**

The walls of Briggs had never been so beautiful, Ted thought as he and Roy strolled up to the exterior door that served as the entrance and exit to Amestris, through which all military and civilian personnel had to come in order to get to the border, and the border guards.

He and Roy had circumvented the border crossing by parking some miles away and making the crossing on foot. It avoided awkward questions at the Drachman gates, even if it meant a few dog-tired miles through the late night and early morning wintery cold and snow. _Woof woof._ Dogs of the military indeed. Sled dogs maybe.

Sarcasm was a great way to keep warm.

"Inside those walls we'll find a hot shower, hot coffee, and a hot phone line home," Roy quipped as they trudged down the last slope.

"And a hot reception," Ted reminded him as he looked up at the walls, aware that there were still Briggs men on very tight watch. The last thing they needed to do was be shot on sight before demonstrating who they were. "Time to pull out the watches I think, and let them know we're friendly."

Roy nodded. Together, the two of them set about clearing an area at the edge of the last trees, in full view of the Briggs walls, using Roy's alchemy to light a camp fire. Then, as they warmed themselves and took a break, looking as harmless as possible, they pulled out their State Alchemist's watches and left them lying in plain sight, where any sniper would easily be able to identify them. Then, all they had to do was wait.

Ted refrained from counting, but it couldn't have been more than ten minutes before he heard "put your hands up," in Amestrian. Grinning, he stood and turned to face three armed Amestrian soldiers in Briggs winter gear.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," Ted replied, his hands up as requested. Roy stood beside him. "We were wondering how long we'd have to wait for an escort home."

"Identify yourselves," the soldier in front replied, not sounding amused.

"State Alchemists Roy Mustang and Ted Elric," Roy cut in, also trying not to grin. "Firestorm and Proteus Alchemists obviously…. Not our Grandfathers."

One soldier stepped sideways and picked up both watches, examining them. "They look legit, Ma'am," he said to the soldier who had spoken, her gun still trained on them. He stepped back to her, holding up both watches.

While the third soldier held up his weapon, the one clearly in command looked at the watches, and then looked at them. With both of their faces clear-if in need of a shave-they should be reasonably recognizable. At least, Ted hoped so.

Finally, she nodded, gesturing at the others to lower their weapons, and pulled down her scarf and pulled up her goggles designed to keep her face warm and cut snow glare.

"Firestorm, Proteus. We've been told to keep an eye out for you. Frankly, we were taking bets on if we'd ever see you."

"Did you bet for or against us?" Ted asked, grinning as he lowered his hands.

"I'd rather not answer that question," she replied humorlessly, handing them their watches back. "Let's get inside and you can report to General Meyer. We were told to bring you to him immediately if we ever found you. Whatever your mission was, Headquarters is dying for a report."

"I'll bet they are." Ted nodded, and he and Roy followed the team across the snowfield to the door, and inside.

The sound of the doors shutting behind them echoed in the chamber, but there was nothing ominous about it. To Ted, it sounded like someone locking the safety on a weapon. Within the walls of Briggs, very little had a chance of touching them.

"Any chance we can stop long enough to wash up and use the facilities first by chance?" Ted asked as they were marched at a brisk pace through the hallways.

The woman, who had still not given them her name, shook her head. "I'm afraid not. You're top priority."

Her tight-lipped insistence on the importance of their mission, about which she clearly knew nothing, fascinated Ted enough he didn't try to push for any more information, or object to not stopping.

Despite moving quickly, it still took them almost ten minutes to weave through the Fort to the General's office. General Meyer was a tall, tan-skinned man with dark hair, starting to streak with gray. He sat behind his desk, hawk-intent eyes fixed on them as they were brought in.

The woman stopped, and saluted sharply. "General Meyer, Sir. State Alchemists Firestorm and Proteus have been located, and brought to you as ordered."

"At ease, Sergeant," Meyer nodded approvingly. "You are dismissed." His eyes turned on the two alchemists but he said nothing until the Sergeant was gone. "We were beginning to wonder if you two were ever going to show up."

"That seems to be a running theme today, Sir."

That got him a considering look. "I've heard quite a bit about your record, Proteus. I can't say that I'm all too fond of some of your methods, but you do seem to produce results. Not that I could say much differently for you, Firestorm."

"Yes, Sir."

Roy spoke so neutrally, Ted could almost believe it didn't irk him to be lumped in with Ted. Of course, given this was not the first time the two of them had teamed up on some crazy infiltration mission, it would have been difficult to argue.

"Now, I don't know precisely what the two of you have been up to in Drachma," Meyer admitted, "But I do know it was important enough, and classified enough, that President Heimler called me personally to give me direction on how this situation was to be handled should you arrive on my doorstep."

Wow. "Understood, Sir," Ted replied when the man paused, clearly expecting some sort of response. "What are our orders?"

"I am going to step out of this room for half an hour. During that time, you are ordered to use the phone number I have left on my desk to call Headquarters directly and report your activities and the results of your mission to the commanding officer on the other line." The General stood. "That time begins now."

And then they were alone. Ted exchanged looks with Roy. "They must really not be risking any leaks."

"Let's get this done. I'd like to get cleaned up, find a civilian phone, and call my wife."

"Patience," Ted snickered as they both went over to the desk. He picked up the number, and recognized it immediately. "Well, now I know who they trust enough to have us report to." He dialed it, and waited as it rang through only twice before someone picked up the other end of the line. He showed the number to Roy, who nodded.

"General Fischer." The voice on the other end sounded like he had definitely only just finished his first morning cup of coffee.

"Hey there, Whitewater," Ted chuckled. "I hear you missed us."

The sound on the other line was distinctly that of someone choking on liquid. "Proteus?"

"And Firestorm, Sir," Roy spoke up from next to Ted. The phone was just loud enough they could both hear.

"We've got your report," Ted continued. "That is, presuming you'd like to hear it."

"Yes," Cal had recovered quickly. "Report, Proteus. The intelligence we've gotten has only given us enough of a picture to suppose that both of your endeavors were successful."

"That would be an accurate summary, Sir." With that he launched into the full detailed account of the jailbreak itself, and then their attack on the air field. He and Roy alternated with relevant details, filling in everything, including a few close calls on the drive back, which had eventually involved the two of them trading off driving, barely stopping anywhere for longer than it took to swap out, and occasionally to buy gasoline.

* * *

"I admit, I'm a little surprised you didn't want to skip our visit," the psychiatrist, Melissa Martin, said as she sat down in the chair next to Sara's hospital bed. "Or at least reschedule for when you get out of the hospital."

"It's not like I have anything else to do, sitting here," Sara pointed out, smiling at the other woman. Melissa was about ten years younger than she was, but she had also been working in a psychiatric capacity with military officers for nearly twenty years. While Sara had never worked with her before, she had felt comfortable with her fairly quickly, and that meant she hoped she would be able to work through some of her concerns before she went home.

"I suppose I am more entertaining than the walls," Melissa agreed. "So, what did you want to discuss with me today?"

Sara swallowed. "I'm worried about Franz."

Clearly, that was not what Melissa had expected to hear, because she paused, and seemed to shift mental gears. She nodded. "Why is that?"

"He's under too much stress, and having to handle everything that's come up recently is hard on him. Harder than it needs to be."

"How so?"

Where to start? There was so much she could say to answer that question. "Well, on top of this mess with Drachma, there's all the conflicting press about my 'mysterious' and 'convenient' return, and sudden notoriety. He wants to protect me and feels like he has to deal with it. I know he still feels like he somehow failed me by not realizing that I wasn't dead, even though I don't see how he could ever have known given how planned out the scheme was, and how well they lost me in the Drachman prison system. It was all I could do to hold on to myself some days. He knows I don't blame him, but I don't think he sees it the way I do." She was actually almost entirely certain of that.  
Melissa nodded, with a considering expression. "So, you don't blame him."

"Of course not." It was an absurd idea. "The only people I blame are the officer who set me up, the Hashman Syndicate, and the Drachmans who aided them. Even with all my decades of experience I barely had time to react. I was furious when they first took me, and I blamed myself then, but I've had almost eight years to mull it over. _I'm_ past most of that, but Franz isn't because to him it's all fresh, and I hate that it's eating him up, and I'm worried because it's affecting his health."

It was to her credit as a professional that Melissa did not contradict anything Sara had said. She might not agree, but she would hear out her logic first. "In what ways?"

"He's stress eating… and he's not sleeping well. He's restless, and he has nightmares… about me mostly."

"Has he told you this?"

"He talks in his sleep when he's under extreme tension," Sara admitted. "He knows, and we've talked about it, but I can't seem to reassure him in a way that really makes a difference." Melissa nodded, then looked at her with a direct gaze. "You know, this time is open for you to talk about whatever is troubling _you."_

Sara couldn't help smiling as she met the woman's eyes evenly. "Yes, and what's troubling me right now is that my being home is putting my husband through a lot of anxiety, even though he's happy to have me back, and I am _ecstatic_ to be home. Am I having nightmares? Yes. I've had nightmares for the last thirty years. It's an occupational hazard, but I had years of monotony and being left mostly alone, in between bouts of solitary confinement and torture, to deal with my fears. It isn't like they tortured me daily the whole time I was gone. I'd have broken mentally _ages_ ago if they had. I made up my mind to survive. I used all of my training to keep myself sane and centered when I had any control at all. I did what I needed to even though I didn't think I was ever going to come home."

"Why did you make that decision?"

"Because I'm a stubborn bitch who doesn't like to give up." Sara chuckled. "I know everyone sees me as having been some kind of helpless prisoner, tormented and tortured, but that was only part of my life. Yes, I was locked up, but I was still _living,_ even if the circumstances were not what I would have chosen. I got to know people. I did try to escape several times. I learned about my environment. I kept an ear out for news. It kept me from losing it in the moments when I was locked in solitary and fighting off despair. As long as I was alive, they hadn't won, and that was enough reason to go on living." She sat back a little into the pillows behind her. "Being home isn't easy, but compared to what I've been through, I know I'll get through the nightmares, and adjust to the changes. I'll get through physical therapy, and be able to walk again, and run again, and then I'll decide what I want to do with the rest of my career. It's my life, and that means that it's whatever I make of it. It's not determined by the color of my living room, or whether or not I'm now fluent in Drachman."

Melissa looked appeased, and at least convinced of Sara's mental stability at the moment. "While we are on the subject of your life…and your husband… aside from the guilt, how is your relationship? You've been apart for a long time."

Naturally, the questions would go there. "Passionate. Beyond that, we're adjusting to being a team again. I can't expect that to happen overnight. Franz is everything I could ask for; he's as attentive as he ever was, caring. There's certainly not a lack of anything to talk about."

"You've told him about your experiences."

"Some of them. It's a lot to get through. He was there for my full military debriefing, and we've talked for hours. I tell him what I was up to, he tells me what he, and every other person I know who is still alive, was up to. We've always been very up front with each other. That, at least, doesn't seem to have changed. We're not entirely in sync anymore. But then…. we're not the same people entirely anymore either. So, it's to be expected. I'm just grateful that he didn't move on to someone else. Since everyone thought I was dead, I wouldn't have been able to blame him no matter how much I would have hated it." She could only imagine how horribly complicated and miserable that would have made both of them. "What would help _me_ feel better is if I could find a way to not make him feel stressed out about having to take care of me, and do his job, and the guilt he's feeling about not being able to do both of them simultaneously."

Sara wondered if Melissa had ever had a patient quite like her before. She made a lot of interesting faces. Subtle gestures, probably not anything most people would pick up on. Sara had gotten very good at reading people.

"Do you think he'd agree to come to a counseling session with you?" Melissa suggested.

"Oh, he would _come_ in a heartbeat. I had to convince him you weren't going to eat me alive or leave me in tears to keep him from coming to the first session we did." He had been so concerned to let her out of his sight without someone else, that she had rather bluntly told him she wasn't fragile or a baby and she'd be fine. It was hardly the first time she had spoken to the psychological counseling services Headquarters offered—and practically required—for anyone after traumatic experiences, and for their regular psychological evaluations. "What I'm not sure about is how well he would deal with being the _subject_." He had been honest with her about his feelings and doubts, and even been willing to tell her about the nightmares she had overheard in the night. Talking to someone else about them might be an entirely different issue. "No matter how many times I assure him that I'm fine, and I do not feel neglected, and that I will not vanish if he takes care of Amestris and his duties as much as he needs to, it doesn't seem to stick. I think it would do him good to hear it from someone else, but only if he's in a receptive mood and doesn't feel like he's the one being analyzed."

"A fair assessment." Melissa nodded thoughtfully. "Do you have any thoughts on how you want to accomplish that?" It almost wasn't a question. Sara was sure the woman had learned in the short time they had been working together, that Sara generally had an idea or an opinion on everything, even if she wasn't sure it would work. It was why her leading questions were generally prompts to continue in the vein her thoughts were already running.

"Well, how do you feel about personal invitations to dinner?" Sara asked. She did not know if that would break any ethical constrictions on the woman, given her work for the military. "Off the clock. Just a nice thank you for sitting here and listening to all my insanity and helping me work through things. Maybe if _you_ tell him that I'm not secretly a mess waiting to fall apart, and that handling things independently sometimes will be good for my recovery, and how well I'm progressing, then maybe he will be more likely to relax a little. That is, of course, presuming you don't think I'm a secret mess waiting to fall apart."

Melissa smiled. "No, I don't think you're going to fall apart. I think you're a very determined woman who is working to pull herself back together, and who managed to hold herself together remarkably well under incredibly difficult circumstances. Your willingness and ability to acknowledge your symptoms and progress are certainly indicators of that. I feel you have realistic expectations for yourself, and you seem to have learned an incredible amount of patience. Many people are much more impatient to complete recovery, even when it can't be rushed."

"The patience did not come naturally," Sara assured her. It had been long and hard learned. "I have lots of things I want to do with my life, and having it back, I don't feel like I need to rush right now. So much has changed, that I need time to take it all in and readjust to living a normal life."

Melissa nodded. "What I do think, is that your husband would benefit from a chance to talk things out on his own, but not with me. I think he would find that uncomfortable. I can recommend a colleague of mine. After all, the annual evaluations are coming up, and we can stipulate the necessity for the session as part of that."

Sara felt mildly guilty plotting this, but only briefly. Nothing she said was working, and Franz needed care as much as she did. "I think that'll work."

"Good. Then, now that we've got that settled for the moment, was there anything else you wanted to discuss with me today?"

Sara shook her head. "Honestly, that is the single biggest stressor in my life right now."

"Says the woman who just had reconstructive knee surgery, still in her hospital bed." Melissa chuckled. "I admit, I admire that about you. You've worked through a lot of things on your own, and incredibly well. Just don't start hiding any insecurities or concerns from Franz. I suspect he will pick up on that, and then he will be even harder to convince that, overall, you're fine."

Sara nodded. That was good advice. Not that she had planned on keeping secrets, but she did tend to try and downplay things to keep him from panicking. "I'll do that. Thank you."

* * *

It was amazing how good a hot shower, hot meal, and a romantic—no matter how short—phone call to your beautiful wife could be, Roy thought as he lay back on the bunk in the barracks that he had been assigned for the night. He and Ted had been given one of the small rooms. While there were two sets of bunks, no one was currently assigned to the space, so they had each claimed a bottom bunk. Even the military issue pajamas were comfortable by virtue of being clean and warm. After days on the road, he was more than ready to pass out. "Just think," he commented as he looked up at the wood of the bunk above him, "In a couple of days we'll be home."

For a moment, he assumed the lack of response was because Ted had already fallen asleep, but a glance to his left showed that Ted was still awake, also staring up at the bunk above him, clearly lost in thought.

 _Anika._ That was the logical explanation for the expression on Ted's face. He was still worried about the girl. Roy hoped, for Ted's sake, that now that they were back on Amestrian soil, his friend and fellow alchemist would forget about the Drachman sharp-shooter and find someone _not_ embroiled in a foreign civil war on which to set his affections.

"She'll be all right." Roy finally spoke into the silence. "They all will. They're resourceful."

"I just wish the enemy weren't so ruthless… or bloodthirsty." Ted's expression remained grim. "There's an awful lot of stuff Amestris doesn't go in for that these guys won't hesitate to do if they catch her father again, or any of the family."

"Well, the best thing we can do now is get home, finish our report, and get on with our duties," Roy replied. It wasn't reassuring, but nothing he could think of to say would be. "We successfully masterminded the breakout of a secure Drachman prison, rescuing a lot of valuable allies, and demolished potentially all of their airpower. Which means there won't be bombs raining down on Amestris, or anyone else, anytime in the immediate future."

Ted nodded, then sighed heavily and reached out to turn off the small lamp between them. The room plunged into darkness. "I know we succeeded. I just hope we did enough."

"So do I."

 **February 9** **th** **, 1990**

It was a day of homecomings. Ted knew, from the brief call he had made to his brother, Ian, that Aunt Sara was getting out of the hospital again that morning, while he and Roy were on the train heading south from Briggs. Dinner would be a big, family affair at Uncle Franz' house, welcome home the heroes.

Not that Ted felt like a hero. Normally, he would have been feeling a bit smug about another one of his complicated and crazy ideas being pulled off successfully, and with no loss of life to any of the team. This situation felt different. The conflict wasn't over, not by a long shot, but it was probably that Amestris would have no further part in it, so long as Drachma left Amestris alone. It sat badly with him. The mission felt unfinished, and people he cared about—and one in particular—were still in life-threatening danger. He could only assume they had successfully made it out of the city, because Fischer's intelligence said that the Drachmans had no information on their whereabouts at the moment.

Right now, no news was the best news, because it meant they had successfully managed to get away, and were probably lying low somewhere. Not that Ted expected that family to stay out of the fight. Not a one of them had it in them, from what he could see, to do so. Anika would die to protect her family, and right the wrongs in her country. And if she did….

His heart would die with her. Despite the days that had passed since their abrupt goodbye, Ted found it just as difficult to get his mind off her now as he had then. Their time together might have been short, and intense, but that did not account for how much they had in common, or how they felt about each other.

At least, he assumed she felt for him what he felt for her, after their romantic interlude under the watchful guard of a very confused tiger. Ted did not want things to end there, no matter how memorable the encounter had been. He had to find her again, whether it was before or after everything sorted itself out in Drachma. He'd bring her back to Amestris if he could talk her into it, even if it meant talking her entire family into it, if things went badly for the provisional government struggling in Karmatsk.  
Not that he would be given permission to do so, or the time off. There were only so many times a man could get permission to tear off on some crazy mission into enemy territory, and he suspected that he had probably reached his limit. Not that it would stop him from trying.

Anika remained on his mind all the way back to Central, as he replayed every moment they had spent together over and over in his mind. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel her in his arms, and almost smell the shampoo in her hair.

He was a little sorry he had missed his parents' visit to Central. Who knew when he would make it down to Resembool. Whitewater hadn't said anything about time off when they returned, though he knew Roy was hoping for it, so he could spend some time with his family that wasn't in the middle of a crisis.

Ted was more than a little jealous.

Still, the homecoming was as warm as anyone could reasonably hope for, with his grandparents waiting at the station, and cousin Trisha, who hugged him tightly, before launching herself at her husband. Ted assumed that everyone else who was joining them would be waiting at the house.

An assumption which turned out to be true, since everyone who lived in the Heimler house was there, plus Trisha's three children, with the exception of Uncle Franz. Not that Ted had expected to see the President at anything resembling a reasonable hour of the afternoon.

"Well aren't you two the spitting image of trouble," Aunt Sara quipped from the couch when they entered, though she was grinning broadly, as if at least partially aware that it was still surreal to see her after all this time.

Ted went to hug her, and was startled by the strength in her squeeze, though he thought maybe he shouldn't have been. "Just because we pull crazy stunts in enemy territory doesn't make us trouble… for anyone here."

"Oh, don't pull that with me. Franz has told me all about the Alchemist antics I've missed while I've been away." Sara shook her head. "Sneaking into the Imperial Palace? Running off to blow things up in Drachma. You're as bad as or worse than your namesakes…and right now you look the part."

"Bedraggled and underfed?" Roy quipped at his mother-in-law.

Sara laughed. "Right on the mark. Fortunately for you both, there's plenty of food to be had, even though dinner's still cooking. How about snacks while you tell us all about your little side trip?"

"Are we allowed to talk about that here?" Ted asked. He wasn't really sure how classified their mission was, but the behavior of the General at Briggs had certainly made it seem highly so.

"Everyone here already has some idea of what you've been up to," Sara assured him. "Now sit, eat, and talk. Those are orders. Or didn't you know they've re-instated my commission? I outrank you again, officially."

Well in that case! "Yes, ma'am. A story it is then." Boy would it be good in the telling, particularly with him and Roy doing the narration.


	32. Chapter 32

**February 12** **th** **, 1990**

Franz sat down across from the military psychiatrist with a feeling of some trepidation even though there was nothing unusual about a psychological evaluation being part of the standard military annual physical. Not even for the President of the Military; or perhaps especially for the President of the Military. Not that he was in a particularly cheerful mood after his standard physical that morning. This was one of those days when he was reminded starkly how much he hated getting old.

The psychiatrist in question was a gentleman only a little younger than Franz himself, and the same one Franz had worked with when they had all thought Sara had died. At least, the couple of mandatory session he had humored. Doug Armand was good at his job, and usually not too difficult to talk to, as professionals went.

"All right, Doug," Franz got right to the point. "What do they want to evaluate me for today?"

Doug smiled sympathetically. "The current situation and the numbers from your physical this morning indicate that you've been under long term stress, and it's not improving."

Franz bit back a snarky retort. "I don't think anyone is getting by without feeling the stress of this mess with Drachma," he pointed out. Several months of being not-officially-at-war yet also unofficially at war were difficult on everyone. No, making those decisions wasn't easy either, but it was part of the job.

"Longer term stress than that, actually," Doug corrected, looking like he regretted what he was about to say. That did not reassure Franz. "How are things with your wife?"

Sara? "Why would Sara be a problem?" Franz asked, sharply enough he even startled himself. "I got my wife back after almost eight years of thinking she was dead! How is a miracle like that supposed to be causing me stress?"

"Why don't you tell me why the suggestion makes you angry?"

"I'm not—I'm just surprised," Franz schooled his tone back to something more reasonable, that did not sound irritated or confused. "Having Sara back is… it's more than I ever hoped. After so long, I'll admit I'd gotten used to the idea that I was going to be alone… at least romantically… for the rest of my life. I didn't like it, but there just aren't any women who can compare to her." At that he smiled a little. "The reality hasn't changed. She's still incredible, and incomparable."

"I don't doubt that," Doug replied. "My concern is that, as wonderful as it is that she turned out to be alive and has come home, and is doing incredibly well in recovering, by all reports… it's still a very dramatic and sudden life change. It's complicated, and it's stressful. You've been a widower for over seven years, without any other major constraints on your time other than your work. Suddenly she's back, and you're re-integrating back into each other's lives again. She's having to readjust to civilian life in Amestris, and medical treatment, and her own issues, and you're trying to both be there for her, and do _everything_ else." It was not phrased as a question, but an assumption that Franz would be doing everything he could for Sara.

Franz wanted to object, to insist that everything was fine, and that having her home had fixed everything in his life. The lie would not leave his lips. "I'm not readjusting as fast as I thought I would," he admitted quietly. "I can't express in words how grateful I am to whatever in the universe decided that Sara deserved to be rescued, but… it's distressing, watching her struggle, and suffer… and she does it all with a determined smile and tells me "it was worse in Drachma. I can do this." Which makes me feel guilty…again. When she died, I was so _angry_ , and the guilt I felt at letting her go on that mission, that there wasn't anything I could have done to stop what happened. All I could do was channel that into something constructive."

"If you want to call hunting down a smuggling and terrorist organization constructive." Doug's tone did not give away his personal opinion on that. "I remember. It was a very successful campaign, assisting the Imperial Family of Xing during their civil war, and taking out the Hashman Syndicate's major headquarters and all of their technology. I do believe that's one of the main reasons you were recommended for President, wasn't it?"

Franz nodded. "I felt guilty for that too, at the time. Sara was the one with the charisma, and the drive. Even when she chose to take over the Alchemist Training Program, I always knew she would have been a much better President. I'd worked directly under three of them. Still, when they offered it, I took it. I think, at least then, I felt like I owed it to her."

"And now?"

"I've been President long enough that I've accepted that I'm doing a passable job, though I don't think the Assembly is happy with some of my recent decisions."

"You can't please everyone all the time."

"I just wish I could quit feeling guilty for having tried to move on in my life." Once the words came out, Franz could feel the truth of them. "Sara's noticed every single tiny change that's been made to the house since she left. Even small changes in the city or myself that I hadn't even thought about, as if she's been carrying home around as a catalog in her mind the whole time. Her memory is still razor sharp, and accurate. I feel guilty every time I leave her side to go to work."

"Does she want you to stay home?"

"Worse…she tells me it's okay, she'll be fine, and that Amestris needs me."

Doug nodded, pausing to write notes every so often as Franz spoke. "Do you feel unneeded?"

"No, not really," Franz objected. "I do plenty for her when I'm there. She will ask for my help if she's not up to something, but she pushes herself so much harder than she has to."

"And how about your relationship… otherwise."

"Despite her injuries and experiences, very—ah—intimate. Or at least, close. I expected she'd be shyer about physical contact after her experiences, but she seems to crave it. Even the little things, like hugs, and just, snuggling up on the sofa, close together."

"Good, that's good." Doug smiled. "Though I am sure that takes a little getting used to again after several years alone."

He was right, though Franz was loathe to admit it. He enjoyed every moment they were cuddled up close for the most part, but it still startled him when she would come up and just lean into him, or drape an arm over him, or cuddle up close in the night. He liked it, but he was no longer entirely used to it. "A bit," he admitted vaguely. "I… feel like a bit of a letdown, actually."

"How so?"

"When I said before, she remembered every detail about home? Well, that includes me. It's a bit humbling, and frustrating, to have how ungracefully you've aged brought out bluntly into the light. Not that she was being critical!" he added quickly. "When it was just me, I didn't really notice, or care so much, that my hair was going gray." Or that he'd put on a little weight, or that his eyesight had gotten worse. He still looked pretty good for his age, and was still physically capable of as much as most military men. Not the State Alchemists maybe, but they were always in insanely good condition even compared to regular soldiers. "It feels…like I let her down somehow, even though I know I didn't. Or at least, she tells me I didn't."

So maybe he was more stressed out about having Sara home than he had realized.

"Do you believe her?"

"She's one of the most bluntly honest people I know, and she's even more so now." A fact that amused him at moments. "She'll tell me exactly what she's thinking. Sometimes it just comes out without even being thought through. So yes, I believe her. I just don't know what to do with that information, or the situation. I love my wife, and I want to spend more time with my wife. I'm terrified that if I don't, I'll lose her again without a chance to make up for all that lost time, and enjoy the remaining time we do have. We're not young."

"Do you want to retire?"

It was a question Franz had asked himself a lot lately. "No, I don't," he replied honestly.

"Does Sara want you to retire?"

"On the contrary, she seems to think my promotion was the best thing ever and has been nothing but understanding."

"And this bothers you."

For a lot of the aforementioned reasons. "It's just a little disconcerting to have her assure me she will be fine through things like major surgery, or me being gone for all the crazy hours the job requires, and have her perfectly content to just wait until I show up…but still be as clearly eager for affection. She's still my Sara…and I love her with the same deep, agonizing need I did before… but her experience has changed her on an integral level, and it's disconcerting sometimes. I know we'll get through it, and we're still feeling each other out again, but the time it takes to get there seems like an eternity."

"So, this, on top of everything else."

"Yes, all right. I'm running on next to no sleep, coffee, and frayed ends," Franz acknowledged. "But there's nothing to be done about it. I try and eat healthy meals when I can, sleep when I can get it, and not spend every waking hour at Headquarters. Right now, that's about all I can do."

"You could rely on your wife a little more."

Franz stared at the other man.

Doug smiled. "Hear me out. It seems to me that she's trying very hard not to be an added burden to you. Clearly, she's been through a lot, but she survived what sounds to us like an impossible situation for a very long time. Instead of breaking, she adapted. Now, she's adapting back, but to a much more pleasant life situation. I expect after being a point of pain for you for so long, she wants to make that up to you, to help you move past that pain. At least, that's how I'm reading this. Her own doctors can keep her to her limits, but if she's capable of helping you, or making your life less stressed, I'd stop fighting her if I were you."

"I'm not."

"Emotionally, if not verbally, you are," Doug said pointedly. "She knows she's okay, and she will have her time with you when it's possible, but she's still herself, which means duty comes first. That's the way it seems to be with all of you military folk, but particularly the alchemists I've talked with. All she can do right now for her country, or any of the people she might want to help, is what she has done. She's letting herself heal, and she's speaking out to the public. Much, much earlier, I might add, than most people are willing to after a period of trauma. She is trying to make this as easy on you as she can, because stressing you out stresses her out, and the last thing she wants is to be a burden. She's also right. You're worn to a frazzle, and it shows. The numbers don't lie." He tapped the physical results which were also in the sheaf of papers on his clipboard. "Even if you'd been inclined to try and do so."

"So, are you going to recommend anything aside from the usual?" Franz asked archly. The tip on Sara was good, but he suspected any other advice would be the stuff he already knew; drink less coffee, get better sleep, make the time to exercise, eat regular healthy meals, and remember he wasn't twenty-five anymore.

"Nothing you haven't heard," Doug admitted. "Particularly since I'm sure you heard it all again this morning. Just, try what I suggested, and don't stress about what you _can't_ do. Just focus on the forward progress."

"I'll try."

* * *

Sara tried not to spend her entire day wondering how Franz's annual had gone, and tried to keep herself from going stir-crazy instead. Home from the hospital for four days did not mean mobile, not after massive reconstructive knee surgery, no matter how well it had gone. Thankfully with her parents around, she wasn't trapped in bed all day, and once she was dressed had insisted on being helped into the wheelchair so she could at least get herself around the house with less assistance. If nothing else, it meant she could go into the living room to socialize, or get her own snack from the kitchen.

The day passed otherwise uneventfully. The initial outpour of media over her interview had died down, and other than the occasional report or side note about her having had her surgery and reportedly recovering well, with declination of any further statements, the media had moved on to other things, or back to them in some cases. The ongoing conflict in Drachma was now being called what it was, a Civil War, and while publicly it seemed as though Amestris was out of it, and Drachma was going to leave them alone now that they were, Sara knew that wasn't the whole story. What always impressed her was how much the military actually managed to keep classified.

Krista and Aithne came home on time after the school day, and James arrived on time, looking pleased with himself for having passed his own physical with a new personal best on his run time. The family ate dinner, and went about their evening… still without Franz. Sara had come to expect it, and while she knew some women would have been hurt, she couldn't be. If he'd been able to be, he'd have been home. Franz would be home when duty let him, probably late, as usual. At least he came home every night. James had told her that before her return, there were many nights when he just slept at the office.

So, Sara was not surprised when she was already in her nightgown and settled in bed reading a book before she heard the keys in the lock at the front door, and Franz' familiar tread as he entered the house a few minutes after ten. As usual, he didn't even bother to turn on a light, but she heard him hang up his uniform jacket, his case hit the floor, and just cause the look of exhaustion on his face that vanished the moment he came into the light of the bedroom lamp. Or at least, he tried to hide it, but it was still there in the corners of his eyes.

She smiled. "You're almost home early," she teased gently. "How did it go today?"

"Fine, just fine," Franz replied with a tired chuckle and a small shrug. "As usual our military corps is fit as a fiddle and ready for action." He walked over to his side of the bed, sat down, and bent over to untie his boots.

"And its President?"

Franz did not reply until the sound of both boots hitting the floor told her he had gotten them off. Then he twisted around to kiss her cheek. "I'm fine, too. Don't tell me you doubted it?"

He was teasing her. Sara returned the kiss on the cheek with one of her own. "Not for a moment. It's just nice to hear. I just got you back, after all. I'd like to enjoy another couple of decades together at the very least." She reached out, entwining her fingers in his closest hand. "So, nothing interesting happened today." Surely, he'd tell her _something._

"Nothing of consequence." Franz shrugged, and squeezed her hand before letting go to finish undressing. He stood to remove his pants. "Just the usual physical and psychological profiling to make sure I don't lose it and start making despotic demands, or crazy ideas like requiring the military uniforms to include miniskirts."  
Sara chuckled. "No, they already turned that one down, as I recall. So, it was a good conversation then?"

Franz's expression turned suspicious. "Yes, I told you, it was fine. Why, do you know something?"

"Not about today's session," Sara replied truthfully. "I've just seen how much this current mess has been wearing on you. I'm allowed to worry about you. If it was a good session, that's all you have to tell me. I trust you to tell me anything I need to know. That hasn't changed." Or maybe it had, a little. Old her would probably have badgered him harder, but she had more patience now, and given the nature of the concern, pressing too hard wasn't going to help him relax.

Franz's brow uncreased. "I promise I didn't learn anything today you don't already know. It went fine, I passed, and I got back to work. I'm just… figuring out that I'm not as good at sharing my problems as I used to be. I'm out of practice."

"Well I _want_ your problems, because they're _our_ problems. You take care of me, and I take care of you, and it all balances out in the end."

"It does." He finished changing into pajamas and slipped under the covers.

Sara turned out the light and snuggled down, smiling into the darkness as his arms slipped around her and she leaned into him. "Good, because all I want to do is spend the rest of my life enjoying your company."

 **February 14** **th** **, 1990**

"You designed this tie yourself for tonight, didn't you?" Ian asked as he looked at the golden silk dragon-embroidered tie of clearly Xingese style. It was very reminiscent of _Golden Warrior_ which made sense, he supposed, since that was the movie for which he had been nominated for Best Male Lead for the AFA Awards.

"I designed the entire suit," Bonnie corrected as she adjusted the tie around her husband's neck until it was exactly right, "But you're correct that the tie was a piece of inspiration specifically for this evening. Still, it goes nicely with the rest of my handiwork."

Ian smiled, amused that his wife's primary concern was what he was wearing. Of course, she had been costuming him for far longer than they had been a couple, or even friends. There was no way she would let him wear anything substandard on a critical night for his career. "And do I look passable?"

Bonnie smiled back at him. "Don't be stupid. You look hot and you know it."

"A hunchbacked ancient hobo would look hot in one of your outfits," Ian pointed out.

"Well, thankfully you are none of those things, though don't say that out loud near Tanner or you might find yourself playing one." Bonnie stepped back and dusted a speck of lint off the suit. There, I think you'll do."

Ian turned to look in the full-length mirror that hung off their bedroom wall. The suit was a rich black, pinstriped very subtly with a dark, deep green. With the pop of the golden tie, and perfectly shined black leather shoes, he looked possibly more dashing than he had at his own wedding. Flashier anyway, right down to gold-toned cufflinks with tiny emeralds the color of his eyes. Bonnie never did miss a detail. "As always, my love, your work improves everyone who wears it."

"No," she disagreed as she took his arm. "It just brings out the best of you. Now, do I look presentable?"

"Presentable? I'm going to have to beat men off you with a sword." Ian leaned down to kiss her. "You look incredible."

 _Now_ Bonnie's face flushed at a compliment. No matter how gorgeous she was dressed up—she could have been an advertising model—Bonnie was always more comfortable behind the outfits, not in them. Tonight, however, she wore a full length, sleeveless, evening gown in a vivid emerald green that shimmered when she moved, and brought out the green in her hazel eyes and hugged her beautiful form far more snugly than anything else he'd ever seen her in, flaring just at the knee which would allow her to move gracefully, and going all the way to the floor which, he presumed, hid the fact that no matter what his wife was wearing, it wasn't going to be multi-inch heels. A flash of foot earlier had told them they were much lower heels in a green that matched the dress so well you could barely see them.

Not that it mattered. No one was going to be looking at her feet. Not with that face, framed with her reddish-brown hair up in a mass of rare curls that framed her face, and an emerald necklace he had given her as a holiday gift.

She recovered her composure, and reached for her thick, black, winter dress coat. "I'll take your word for it. Shall we go? We shouldn't keep anyone waiting."

"Oh why not?" Ian teased as they headed for the door. "When else are we ever going to get to keep everyone breathless with anticipation?"

* * *

Bonnie knew that, in spite of his outward calm and positive chatter, Ian was nervous. He drove them over to the studio, where they got in a limousine with two of Ian's co-stars, and their wives, and rode over to the awards in style. The entire time he kept up a casual chatter, smiling, looking as outwardly relaxed as one of his characters.  
Which was exactly how she knew he was acting the part, given how keyed up he had been at home, or whenever he wasn't working or in public, ever since the letter had arrived informing him of his nomination. _Golden Warrior_ was nominated in several categories, including almost every acting one, but the fact that Ian was up for an award for a Leading Role was huge. He had been nominated before, but he had never won. This was, by any estimation, the best chance he'd had yet. Still, there was always the possibility that the board of voting members of the Amestris Film Association would choose someone else out of the always stiff competition. She knew Ian was hoping this was it, but that he didn't dare quite get his hopes up, bracing for the possible disappointment and ready to lose gracefully once again.

That was part of why she had chosen both of their outfits the way she had: to help give him a boost of confidence; to show she had enough confidence in the both of them to draw attention. He had been so supportive when it had been her in the spotlight—a rare event—when she had won the award for Best Costumes previously.  
Their arrival was timed for later than usual, near the end of the red-carpet chaos, which also meant it was when the most people were there. Bonnie gave his arm a squeeze as they pulled to a stop.

Ian took a breath, and she heard him just barely whisper "show time," and then the door was open, and cameras were everywhere. Ian stepped out first, then turned to offer her a hand himself, instead of letting a valet do it. Bonnie smiled graciously up at him and stood as calmly as if they did this every day, ignoring the pounding of her heart as she took his arm and they started moving.

Thankfully, this close to the end of the night, they weren't going to be stopped by every reporter along the entrance. If they had, they would have missed the entire ceremony. So, they were only stopped by a handful of the most high-profile reporters, all asking the same questions about Ian and his feelings about his performance, the film, his co-stars. Bonnie often went generally unnoticed, except for compliments on the attire of both of them, which Ian immediately credited her for every time. "Of course, I let her dress me! She always knows what I look best in, and she has award-winning taste."

It was a relief when they were stopped by a couple of the female reporters, who made a point of asking about her current work instead of ignoring her, and then they were finally inside, able to breathe and go to their seats which were right up near the front, along an aisle, since all the nominees needed to be able to reach the stage if selected.

Only the tightness of the grip of Ian's hand on hers belied his tension.

Bonnie leaned in. "Relax," she whispered in his ear. "You've got this."

Ian smiled, and his grip loosened. "I was just thinking maybe I should have eaten something before we came."

The number one sign of nerves, Ian off food.

Bonnie refrained from shaking her head. Cameras were watching the entire audience. They might have a close up shot in their direction any time. "Yes, you should have. Don't worry, there will be plenty afterwards." Win or lose, there were always parties, and she knew there was a large cast and crew and guests party already planned for afterwards, no matter how the awards turned out.

The most difficult part of the show was the waiting. It was always highly enjoyable, with performances interspersed, and the excitement of watching others win awards. Bonnie was always interested in the technical awards, and clapped enthusiastically for Paula Bazetti when she won for her costumes in _Golden Warrior._ Paula was a great colleague, and her work was exceptional.

It was definitely an on-the-seats-edge kind of evening given the number of people they knew up for awards, particularly for _Golden Warrior,_ which was nominated in almost every category. It won for screenplay, score, editing, costumes, sets, best supporting actor, best supporting actress. The numbers kept climbing. It did not win best actress in a leading role, because there were no leading female roles. All that was left, finally, was best leading male, director, and overall film.

Bonnie had to keep from holding her breath as the announcer came out to read the nominees.

* * *

The last time Ian had been this nervous, he had been about to sing on camera for the first time. Even his wedding had not left him with a case of nerves this bad, or his first audition at Central Vision Studios. Not even his last nominations. Now the moment was here, and his heart was pounding. His palms were slightly damp. His stomach was churning. While, academically, he knew that if he did not win tonight, nothing would change, and that was not a bad thing, it did not keep his emotions from writhing inside.

This role had been by far and away the best work he had ever done, and if he did not win for this, he was not entirely certain yet what he could do to top it.

The names of the nominees were being read, there was his, the third of the five. He knew the cameras were panning the audience, and he kept focused on the board, keeping his expression anticipatory, but positive. No matter what was about to happen, he would be supportive of whichever one of the other excellent actors who had also been nominated won.

The envelope was being opened. The beautiful dark-skinned actress in the silver dress was grinning as she flipped it open, stretching out the anticipated seconds.

For just a second, Ian could not decide if he had gone deaf, because he could not make out her words, or the movement of her mouth, and then all around him was the cheering of the audience for the winner. There was a disconnect, and it was only in the second after the shouting started his brain registered that she had said his name.

"Go!" Bonnie was laughing and crying as she tugged at his arm, and Ian felt suddenly as if the world was whirling around him as he stood, stepping past her into the aisle and then almost in an instant he was up on stage, taking the award in hand, grinning with a calm that was entirely outward as he shook her hand, and then there he was, center stage, in front of the microphone.

And the world snapped back into place.

This was his moment, staring out at a sea of faces, many familiar, and others only names, from smaller studios, or from outside Amestris whose works still made international acclaim and got nominated. The cameras were broadcasting him, right here, live out to millions of people who had tuned in at home who cared. His parents, his brothers and sister, his grandparents, cousins, friends…

Every word of any carefully prepared speech seemed trite, and he discarded them. His senses took it all in; the lights, the smell of stage, the feel of the statue in his hands, and there, in the audience, the face that mattered.

"I… have never been so… in awe," he looked out at the audience, "or so honored. I feel humbled, in this moment, by the sheer ocean of talent in this room, and that I am privileged to work with every day, doing what we do. Working on _Golden Warrior_ was truly a dream production, and I am so fortunate that I was given the opportunity to tackle this role. So, I'd like to thank our director, Mike, who pushed me to entirely new levels, and all of the rest of the cast and crew. You're all brilliant. And I need to thank, my family, for supporting me from the time I was a small boy in a farm town who decided that I wanted, of all things, to be an actor. Mom, Dad, thank you for letting me move to the city and pursue that crazy dream. Aunt Sara, Uncle Franz, thank you for not making me live on the streets, and making sure I did my homework and kept my head from blowing up too much." That earned a few chuckles in the quiet of the audience. "Thank you, Grandpa, for not blasting my performance of you with bad reviews when I played you. But, the most important person, by far… Bonnie, my love… my wife." He locked eyes with her, his heart brimming as he looked at her beaming, tear-streaked face. "You've been with me since before we were even friends; making me look good in front of a camera in every brilliant costume you designed, even when you thought I was just another hack two-bit actor. You gave your all, even when it was more than I deserved. I could not be the man I am today, without you. Thank you."

The cheering erupted again, and he wasn't entirely certain how he got off stage, or back to his seat. The next several minutes were a complete emotional blur, and by the time he felt himself again, he had entirely missed the announcement of Mike Fish, the director, winning also for _Golden Warrior._ Then, just a couple of minutes later, he was back up on stage, as part of the huge press of _everyone_ as the film won for Best Picture.

It was only as they stepped out afterwards into the brisk night air on the way back to the car, that Ian felt like he really started breathing again, and the elation and reality of what had just happened set in.

Beside him, he felt Bonnie squeeze his arm. "That's better," she chuckled, as if she could read his thoughts. "Your speech was wonderful."

"That's good," Ian chuckled, "because I'm not sure I remember a word of it."

"Well you'd better get your brain back together, because here come the reporters."

Ian looked up and realized she was right. The entire cast and crew, and everyone who had won anything tonight, was about to be mobbed by the press, interviewed, and have their faces plastered all over the media.

It might be a brief moment, but tonight, his moment had arrived. It was time to enjoy it!


	33. Chapter 33

**April 24** **th** **, 1990** – Just Over 2 Months Later

"You want to do _what_?"

Sara might have found Franz's expression amusing if he hadn't honestly looked so concerned. "I want to go to Resembool," she repeated patiently. "I'd like to get out of the city for a while, enjoy the weather. Spring in the country is beautiful, and there's the Sheep Festival coming up. You could take a few days off and come join me." The past couple of months, while Drachma was still a mess, had been quiet enough for Amestris. It truly looked as though Drachma was going to leave them be. "Besides, I'd like to spend more time with the family we don't get to see. I'd like to meet Art and Deanna's kids, and see what's changed. I haven't gotten to meet Raina, or see Urey. Now's ideal really, while things are going as smooth as they're going to." Before something else came up that brought more chaos to their lives.

Franz, however, clearly did not like the idea, but was trying not to fight with her. "What about your PT?"

Sara looked at him across the kitchen table. "The doctors all say I'm fit for travel, and I'm ready to start walking regularly. Besides, Mom and Cassie are both more than capable of overseeing my physical therapy and making sure I don't overdo it. It's perfectly safe."

"How will you get there? There's no way I can come for several weeks," Franz objected.

"I'll take the train." Sara shrugged.

"By yourself?"

"That was my thought," Sara admitted. "I can wheel my own chair, and use crutches, and walk for the short distance it takes to go up the stairs into a train car. There are porters on the trains to assist if I need anything."

"But it's…" once again he didn't finish his phrase, but he didn't have to.

"Dangerous?" she finished the statement, biting back impatience. She understood his hesitation, but it was unnecessary. "Franz, it's the train to Resembool. Right here, in Amestris. Anyone who wanted me dead _is_ dead. If I take the express train it will take me less than two days to get there. Dad will meet me at the station with the car. It's not like I'm going to be really alone." Just out of his sight, and she knew that was why he was panicking. That was what she was seeing, and it startled her. She could not remember the last time she had seen Franz truly fearful. "What I want is for you to finish up whatever you need to do, and then take a few days off and come join me. Imagine, a few quiet days in the country, just the two of us." And some of her extended family, but far fewer of them than there were in Central these days. "But you need to focus on getting work dealt with right now, and it's clear to me that trying to take care of me, and take care of an entire country, is pulling you in two directions. You need a break."

"No, not from you."

"I didn't mean that," Sara smiled a little more gently. "I mean that if you don't have to do both, you can handle any political work more quickly. However much I'd like to believe my publicity, I'm one woman, Franz. There's a lot more to worry about on the border and across it, and inside our own, than me and my healing knee."

He reached out and gripped her hand on the table. "You're incredible," he whispered after several long moments of silence. "I don't even know how you're doing this."

"Living?" Sara asked. "I've spent all of this time choosing to live, no matter what. Nothing at home has been as terrifying or painful as what I've already been through. Just because it's not easy doesn't mean I can't handle it. I had to find myself, and my strength, over and over again in Drachma. It was that, or give up. I was beat down over and over again, and I'm still here. There's nothing about our nice, normal, very safe life in our well-guarded country that can stop me. Why? Does it bother you that I'm _not_ a jumpy, crying mess all the time?" Still… She had been home for months, going through therapy, mental and physical, improving daily. Even the nightmares were almost gone. Or at least, no more common than before she had left.

"No! That's not what I meant." He looked embarrassed. "You just keep surprising me. Some things about you are so different… and then others haven't changed at all. But then, I should have expected you wouldn't automatically return to me like every other prisoner of war. You're all different… and you State Alchemists are your own crazy breed."

"We _Elrics_ are our own crazy breed," Sara corrected. "Training alone can't prepare someone for what I went through, but it definitely helped. I think… when I'm better, I'd like to teach that to our students at Headquarters. They need to know what to expect, and I don't think our training, as much as it covers a lot, covers nearly everything."

"So… you're definitely going back to work?"

It was something they had discussed off and on, and to which she had finally come to a comfortable decision. "I can teach classes and still be the beautiful and influential wife of the President of the Military," she tried to lighten the mood. "Thanks to Ren, I don't look like a horror film extra."

Apparently that was not a choice of words that made Franz comfortable. "What if the press follows you on the train?"

"What are they going to do, bug me to death?" Sara sighed. Enough was enough! "Franz… I will be okay, but right now I get the feeling you won't be. Do you not want me to go?"

There, she had left him room to say it outright. If he would just come out and admit it.

Franz shrugged. "I… don't want to stop you from doing what you want to."

She was _not_ going to strangle him. "That isn't the same thing and you know it. I'm not leaving you, or even leaving you behind, but if it's going to hurt you, then I'll wait, and we can go down together. I just thought it would be easier on both of us if you didn't have to constantly try to be in two places at once. I'll be _fine._ Now just tell me what you really want and don't try to spare my feelings, or yours, because you're not doing either if you don't tell me the truth." She glared at him with her no-nonsense business expression. " _You're_ the President, and my husband. If this is really going to be too much, and you tell me to stay, I'll stay."

For a moment, she thought he was going to. Instead, he let go of her hand long enough to pick up his cup of coffee and take a sip. Finally, he sighed. "I can't do that," he admitted more calmly. "You're right. Going to Resembool would be good for you, and we could both use a vacation. Make the arrangements. Go on down whenever you're ready, and I'll join you for the Spring Sheep Festival as long as no one tries to blow us up between now and then." The last, had just a hint of humor in it.

Sara relaxed. There was some sense, finally. "It had better not. Don't worry, I can handle getting everything ready."

Franz finished his cup and stood. He came around the table and bent over to kiss her. "I know you can. I need to get going or I'll be late to an Assembly meeting."

"Tell them you had more important things to see to."

 **April 25** **th** **, 1990**

Even though it was Spring, the landscape around the house was empty and desolate. Snow covered the mountains, and crocuses tried valiantly to poke their heads up through the snow that still encrusted most of the dead brown grass.

By the brook, her daughter was playing, swinging from a swing that had been hung there by her grandfather, when her mother was a girl.

From here, you could almost pretend there wasn't a war going on beyond the mountains, further into the central part of what had been a great nation. A nation that might no longer exist when this was all over. What would become of them then? She didn't know…but she feared for her daughter more than herself.

He was on the news every night, and on the radio. Not that she always saw him directly, but the reports continued, slandering his name, yet at night, on the radio, his voice came through, rallying the good people of Drachma, reminding them of the greatness that came not from military might, but from banding together as a people, and protecting each other.

She had left him three years ago, when it had become abundantly clear that his duty would always conflict with his desire to be at home with his family, and this duty would always win. Not that she had tried to keep Amylla from her father, but it had now been nine months since they had spoken.

Not that she could blame him for the civil war. That was not his fault.

The voice on the radio inspired the people she knew. They said it sounded invigorating; what he said made sense, and they hoped that he could turn the tides and push the usurpers who were killing innocent Drachman people back out of the capitol and return order.

But Darya heard something different; behind all of that, was an exhaustion, and a worry. A man terrified not for himself, but for the people he was protecting. And she knew who he was protecting…Amylla.

Gavril. She had been won over by him once, too; his charisma, his determination, his ambition. He had been young, realistically idealist, and oh so handsome when they met. He was educated, and well-off, and had a long successful career ahead of him. And he loved her… she'd never doubted it. The wedding had been everything she dreamed, and he had doted on her through her entire pregnancy, and nearly worshiped their daughter.

But it didn't last. Long days in government offices became long evenings, and long nights. All that political passion, all his drive for his country… meant less time for his family. Her own career on hold with a little one to care for, her life on hold… a love who was never home. It had grown old, and cold. While Amylla was too young to understand the pain of her father's constant absences, his lack of attention, she'd left. It hadn't been easy. In fact, it still made her insides ache to think of what they had shared…what no longer existed. She hadn't divorced him. It would have ruined Gavril's career, and her own social standing. She didn't hate him enough for that, but she knew that while she was hurting, her choice had ripped him up inside too. He had begged her to stay, they had argued for several nights, before she moved out, taking Amylla with her.  
After that, when she saw him, in person for a visit with Amylla, or on television, he looked a little older, a little grayer. His eyes didn't smile. Still, his career had continued its upward climb, so she supposed he must have been happy for that.

She was about to call Amylla up for dinner when she heard a shout from behind her. Turning, she saw her uncle coming up the hill at the front of the house. :Darya!: he was puffing, moving much faster than he normally did. :You have a visitor!:

A visitor? :Who is it?: she called back, suddenly on edge. With the current situation, her first concern was her daughter's safety.

Her stout uncle reached the top of the hill. :An Amestrian!: he exclaimed, eyes bright. :He's brought you a message.: He held up the envelope in his hand. :I told him he'd have to wait at the inn. He says it's from… him.:

Her heart almost stopped. A letter from Gavril, brought by an Amestrian? Well, that would explain why it might have taken so long to get here. Tentatively she reached out and took the envelope. Bracing herself, she opened the letter and opened it.

Clear enough, in Gavril's neat script, was a letter.

 _My darling Snowlily,  
_

 _I know I no longer have the right to call you that, but I will anyway, because if I don't, I may never have another chance. If you have been able to see the news, you know that I am besieged at Karmatsk, in my uncle's home, and have been made the unintended focal point of a counter-resistance against the traitors who have murdered many and are currently destroyed what remains of Drachman honor and stability. You always said my ambition would get me into trouble someday. Well, your words were prophetic. It will not surprise you that I have not tried to turn down this unanticipated position. The innocent people of Drachma need someone to look to, or there will only be further chaos and destruction. It was not my intention, but a moment's heroism has put me where years of careful political treading never could.  
_

 _Yet I would throw all of it away to have you and Amylla safe. Even if I never see you again, it would mean the world to me to know the two most precious people in it are out of harm's reach. I fear they will come for you, if they know where to find you. That is why I have sent this letter through an untraceable and unlikely messenger. I trust the Amestrians will deliver this, for the ones that I know have never been dishonorable, no matter what political propaganda would have us think.  
_

 _Darya, if there is any way for the two of you to get out of the country, take it. If anyone will offer you asylum, leave. I don't want you and Amylla messed up in this. They've already proven they will take and kill hostages. If they take you… know that I would give over the safety of all of Drachma to save you.  
_

 _This is not the world I wanted for our daughter. If she cannot have a father, let her have a good life, a safe life. If you can find happiness elsewhere, find it. Find love. I wasted my chance. Please, don't let my foolishness give you any more pain. All I ask is that when Amylla asks about me, that you tell her that her father loves her more than the sky, and more than the moon, and more than the flowers. She is a precious jewel. As precious as her mother.  
_

 _I love you, Darya. I have since the first time I saw you across the University cafeteria, laughing at a friend's joke. I will always love you, and none other for as long as I live. Admittedly, that time may be short, but you can at least rest assured that all of my free thoughts, and many intruding ones, are of you, and the lack of your presence is agony to me.  
_

 _Goodbye, beloved. I will write it now, because if I don't, I will never be able to say it and I have the feeling we may never see each other again. A friend told me that I should be honest, and tell you how I truly feel, while there is time. I hope that this letter in some way conveys to you the depth of my feelings. They never changed; I just was terrible at showing them until it was far too late.  
_

 _Yours, faithful, forever,  
_ _Gav_

The water marks on it could have been damage during travel, but Darya knew too well what tear stains looked like. Her throat constricted more with every word. They sounded like the words of a man who knew he might be doomed, but damned if he was going to go down without a fight. It wasn't even a fight for himself. Out of the page spoke both the man she had fallen in love with, and a man who was out of options. He would do what was right if it killed him, because that was the only choice left.

:What's wrong?: her uncle asked, startling her. :If he's said something inappropriate I'll-:

:No!: she cut him off with a quick shade of her head. :It's fine, Uncle Moris.: She folded the paper and tucked it into her jacket pocket. :I need to think. Is the Amestrian still here?:

:At the Inn, as I said. You want to talk to him?:

She could act, or she could sit and wait. One thing was certain, Gavril was not sitting and waiting. Darya nodded. :Yes. I do. Please watch Amylla for a couple of hours.:

It was time to make a few decisions.

* * *

"Here's to another successful mission!" Rex Neil held up his beer stein in an enthusiastic toast to the team. "We keep this up, we'll set a record."

"For what, most beer consumed?" Caroline asked with a sniff, though her expression softened. Time and their crazy mission to Drachma seemed to have worn off the rough edges of the team.

"I'll take that," Rex agreed with a shrug.

"If you pass out, I'm _not_ dragging your ass to my place," Vasti snorted, sipping her own drink more slowly.

"It's fine. I've got my car," Felix Tringham commented, gesturing with his bottle of cola. "It'll fit everyone if I need to give people rides home."

Ted Elric tried to smile and let himself enjoy the moment. After getting back from leave after their last mission in Drachma, he had continued to be assigned with his new team, and they had been sent out on several missions. Three of which had been Drachman border patrols in areas not easily covered by Briggs soldiers, looking for crossers. Not that they anticipated many, but some Drachmans had already fled, seeking asylum. Those, they escorted to the appropriate officers for processing for possible temporary visas, under strict orders not to spread the knowledge that was happening. The alchemists' concern was spies and smugglers; illegals who might find a way to drag Amestris back into Drachma's mess.

They had caught two on their last mission. It hadn't been much of a fight all things considered. The enemy only had a pistol between them, and Ted's team had four trained State Alchemists. Still, the smuggled goods recovered had been worth millions of sens.

Ted should have been feeling satisfied, but he wasn't. Well, not entirely. No matter what he did these days, there was the specter of Drachma hanging over it as he waited, and listened, craning for any bit of news, even gossip, coming out of Drachma. Sometimes they got the radio and television signals sent out from Karmatsk, and sometimes they couldn't. The regular Drachman broadcasts, all propaganda for the opposing side, rarely mentioned names that interested him.

Still he strained for any word, any bit of news.

Anything on Anika.

Time, Roy had assured him, would give him some distance and perspective on the situation. Roy had seemed so convinced that it was just another wartime crush, but Ted couldn't help it. Months later, and he still couldn't keep her off his mind. It was becoming an obsession. He worried every day if she was safe, how she was doing, if her family was all right. Where was she?

The logical part of him told him the best thing he could do for himself was to put her out of his mind, and let her go.

The rest of him just couldn't do it. It did not matter how many times he had messed up, or fallen for the wrong girl, or at the wrong time, his heart would not let her go.  
As long as Amestris was no longer involved in the Drachman Civil War, there was nothing he could do about it, besides hope that when it all fell out and was done, Anika would still be alive… and still interested in hm.

"Uh oh. You're making that face again." Felix spoke softly beside him.

Ted grimaced, and took a long pull on the bottle of beer in his hand. "Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me," he continued. Thankfully the others were so busy teasing each other they didn't seem to have noticed Ted's mood. " _I_ know why you keep volunteering us for border patrols, and I think the others do too. We all met her."

"Am I that transparent?"

"About this, yes. Not that you've ever been one for hiding your feelings or opinions," Felix pointed out. "No one expects you to just forget a lover like she was nothing."

"I never said we—"

"You didn't have to." Felix cut him off, arching an eyebrow. "Don't try to deny it. Before that mission, even when you had other girl problems, you kept your head in the game. Now, you're all tied up in knots. Not that you've been anything less than exemplary," he held up a hand to forestall any argument. "But take tonight as an example. We should be celebrating, and you look like a cat died."

Not that Ted had planned on denying it. At least, not further than the initial objection. He'd hardly call their brief time together enough to make them lovers. But he didn't like thinking of her as a one-night stand either. There was real feeling there. At least, he'd thought there was. The problem was, the longer time went on without word, the less sure he felt, and the more he wondered how much of his attraction and emotion were one-sided. Anika had a war to fight. She might have forgotten all about him by now. "I hate not being able to do anything," he finally admitted aloud. "Part of me feels like us not being involved in this is wrong. Like I should have stayed. Like _we_ should have done more."

"And you might be right," Felix agreed, startling him, " _But_ we were given orders, and we will continue to follow them."

Ted nodded. "Because that's what we do." State Alchemists, doing their duty, following orders. Not that Ted had ever been that great at following orders when he had other ideas, but he knew that there were some things that could be bent, and others that should not be broken. Going back into Drachma to hunt down Anika definitely counted as breaking at least a half-dozen military laws he could think of just off the top of his head. The first, and most critical, being the current closed border law that forbid Amestrians from crossing—legally or openly—into Drachma and possibly provoking the giant white bear into paying attention to the country to the south. No one wanted another Drachman invasion.

Still, there was part of him that was convinced if he could convince her to sneak south across the border, she could be offered a temporary asylum.

That was a big if. The phone number he knew was useless. The phone lines were down on the Drachman side completely now between Drachma and Amestris. Even if he could reach Anika or her family, he didn't know if he could convince them to leave. Maybe her brothers could talk her into it. He just didn't know.

"Don't start getting any crazy ideas," Felix warned, looking a little more alarmed, as if he could see Ted's brain working. "You're in a great place career-wise right now, and there's nothing one man can do in this situation alone, without support. When it's over, you'll have time to find her. I'm sure you will. She seems like quite the survivor."

"Yeah. She is at that." Ted took another drink. _That's something we both have in common._ If only he were there to help her.

 **April 28** **th** **, 1990**

Travel arrangements and medical clearance to go was arranged with surprising speed and ease and—before he was ready—Franz was seeing Sara off at the train station in the early morning fog. He tried not to hold on too tightly as they hugged and kissed a short-term farewell. He knew he shouldn't be panicking, but that didn't mean he wasn't worried. Having Sara in Central, at home, even when he could barely be there, had been a measure of security for him. He knew where she was, and that she was safe, in quick reach at any time. For the first several weeks Ed and Winry had been there to help, though they had finally gone home a little over a month ago. Alphonse and Elicia had stayed longer, and were still here, while Charlie was recovering from his injuries.

"I'll see you in a couple of weeks," Sara reminded him as the kiss broke between them. "And I'll call every day to tell you how wonderfully I'm doing and how great it all is so you can't wait to join me." She smiled brightly, and with her hair now long enough that it fell behind her shoulders, even if it wasn't as long as it had been, she looked right again, just like his Sara.

He forced himself to ease his grip and let go. "I'll look forward to your calls. Just be safe."

"You know I will be." She squeezed his arms then let go, and he made himself let her step back. "It will be all right. I've got the most comfortable berth on the train, and almost every porter wants to be my personal assistant." She chuckled, because it was true.

Franz nodded. "I know." He refrained from any more buts…or what-abouts. It wasn't logic or any real fear that was holding on to him, just irrational emotion. "I'll come join you as soon as I can."

"That's what I wanted to hear." Sara gave him one more quick hug, then used her crutches to hobble up onto the train. Her baggage and the wheelchair—should it be needed—were already stowed away.

Franz watched her go, stuffing down the rising sense of panic. _Get a hold of yourself, man. It's a train trip through your own country._ Sara would be just as spoiled on the train as she would be when she got to Resembool. No one working for the railroad on a passenger train wanted the First Lady of Amestris to have an unpleasant trip.

Since her interview, and over the past months as she had finally given more, and allowed more photos into circulation, and had spoken publicly, Sara's popularity and how much the people trusted her seemed to have mostly returned to its pre-kidnapping levels. The Twilight Alchemist was someone to be trusted and adored.

Franz stood on the platform until the train had pulled away. Only when it was out of sight, and out of hearing, did he turn and make himself walk back down the station, and out to the car, trying not to feel utterly alone. It would be fine. He had work to do.

* * *

"Aerugean roast, cream, no sugar."

Gloria leaned back against the back of her chair and, subsequently, Alexei as he set the cup of coffee down on the desk in front of her. Tilting back enough to look up, she smiled. "I wish I had an assistant like you at work."

Alexei chuckled as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead, which was all he could reach from that angle. "If I were your assistant, I would never get my own work done."

"And there are certainly none others like you," she agreed.

"Lucky for me." Alexei stepped around the little table in Gloria's apartment and sat down on the other side, where his own work was piled up neatly. While their separate projects were usually individual ones, Gloria was particularly enjoying their current ongoing collaboration—particularly since both the newspaper she worked for, and his magazine, were paying them for the outcome. The regular news updates on the Drachman situation were now firmly in Gloria's grasp, and she was running with that responsibility. So much for fluffy side-stories. Now she was writing above-the-fold front page articles on international matters. Barely a month after arriving home, the magazine had run a twenty-page feature she and Alexei had co-authored on their experience in Drachma, and what they had seen and experienced. They had both been interviewed by three television stations, and the media blitz had been a little dazzling until it finally began to settle down again.

Not that they had any less work to do. Gloria had been thrilled and honored that Sara Heimler wanted her to be the co-author on her memoir regarding her experiences during her time as a captive of the Hashman Syndicate and in the Drachman prison system.

Not only had neither of them been replaced in their absence, they had both been given promotions and raises. Apparently high-profile international journalism made you desirable to keep on staff.

And somewhere between all the projects, there was wedding planning to be done. Not that it felt like work. Given the insanity that had interrupted Alexei's original proposal plans, she was certain that nothing nearly as catastrophic could possibly happen, and comparatively, the wedding would be easy.

That was, if they could manage to finalize anything. When she first got back, Gloria would have been happy with pretty much any wedding her mother came up with, but as soon as she started being sent ideas to look through, the adrenaline of their experiences in Drachma and the aftermath started to wear off, she found that while she and Alexei both had very similar views about a lot of things, that did not mean they agreed.

For one thing, they still needed to choose a date and location. They had narrowed it down to two places—since any kind of destination wedding in Drachma was clearly off the list—one in Central, and one in North City. The remaining available dates were different as well. "It looks like our options are the Lion Hotel's top story ballroom in Central if we want December, or the Skyview Resort here outside the city in October."

"Why is everything already booked?" Alexei reached out and picked up the brochure for the Resort. "We're months out."

Gloria smiled. "This is _short_ planning for a wedding. Many places book up well over a year in advance. So, unless you'd rather wait even longer to get married…"

"No, no, either of these will be fine," he agreed, flipping through the information. "I've been up to Skyview before. Their large dining room, the one that doubles as their ballroom for large gatherings, has huge picture windows that look out at a lake. In the fall, the foliage should be beautiful. It's not snow and ice," he teased with a shrug, "but it would be glorious."

"And sooner than December."

"Yes, and much sooner," Alexei chuckled. "Also much less likely to have travel delays for your family due to the weather."

"A fair point, and autumn colors do make for a gorgeous wedding." Gloria had been going back and forth on ideas, and a color scheme in golds and greens and reds would be beautiful at in the Fall.

"There is a Drachman folk tale, of a fairy princess who dressed in autumn leaves. It was said that her beauty was so enchanting, that she was able to rescue her forest from woodsmen who wanted to chop it down."

"Is the forest still there?" Gloria asked curiously.

"It is, as a matter of fact." Alexei nodded. "It is the Great Western Forest, on the far side of the mountains, and it is a National Preserve."

He would not tell her this story if he wasn't hinting heavily. Gloria leaned forward. "Are you telling me I look like a fairy princess?"

"I am."

"Very well then, October it is."

 **May 1** **st** **, 1990**

Charlie wasn't really sure what program was actually on the television in front of him. It was some sort of quiz show, with questions and prizes. Not that it mattered. It was only there as background noise at this point.

The house was, for the moment, unusually quiet. His grandparents had taken all of the kids out to the park. It was a beautiful day, and Abigail, being three, was old enough to actually play on the little-kid playground. Cameron, at one-and-a-half, could do things if heavily monitored by adults, like swing in the baby swing, or play in the sandbox—still, heavily monitored by adults. Summer, who was already eight months old, was crawling and sitting up, but that was the extent of it, so she would probably enjoy getting to crawl around in the carefully manicured park grass.

The short time he had been gone, and then in the hospital, they had all grown so much. It had been a bit of a shock, really, to realize just how quickly time flew by when they were developing. They were good kids, though he supposed it was hard for the littlest to be bad. Shelby had done an amazing job with them so far, and it made him feel a bit guilty at having left her alone with them, even if it had been for duty, and then because he was stuck in the hospital.

Charlie winced, reaching with his remaining hand for the soda and snack sitting within reach. The other arm, still heavily bandaged, was not visible, as he had tied off the end of the sleeve of the loose-fitting flannel shirt he wore over his undershirt and shorts. It did not hurt as much as it had before, but the pain in the stump of his arm was still sharp if he bumped it into anything, or moved it much. It had at least healed over so it wasn't an open wound anymore, but it ached if it moved, it ached if it rained. He didn't even have an auto-mail prosthetic yet, and he couldn't imagine how people got by like this, especially the older generation with the old ports. No wonder Edward Elric was legendary for his temper. Who wouldn't be grouchy and temperamental with an arm and leg that felt like this most of the time?

The worst was rolling over in bed, or forgetting for a moment that it was gone. The phantom sensation that his hand was still there would come and go, lasting just long enough for him to bump the stump into something and send off more pain.

At least, when he wasn't medicated. Not that they'd given him anything like they had in the hospital. Those had been really serious painkillers and he had hardly felt a thing. Of course, he'd also been loopy and had occasional hallucinations on them, but he hadn't hurt much. No, now what he had was enough that it took the worst of it away, but not all of it.

At least he wasn't taking half a dozen pills a day anymore. Outside of his regular medication, and the painkillers, he had been on two different antibiotics while the wound healed over, and several supplements. He had lost track of what half of the things he was taking were for. In the hospital, they had just brought him what he needed at the right intervals, and Shelby had kept to the regimen like very careful clockwork when he came home. If not her, his mother was there, or his grandparents.

He wasn't seeing much of his father these days. Not that he could blame him. Even having pulled out of Drachma, the State Alchemists were in high demand. Charlie knew from his mother's conversations that his father was working a lot of late days, alongside his colleagues, and often with the President.

That was fine with Charlie. He hadn't been able to avoid his father in the hospital, except by feigning sleep, which hadn't been hard. Now, at least he had time to avoid awkward conversations by never being alone. He wasn't ready to have any serious conversations with his father. Not about what happened…and not about his career.  
It didn't matter that everyone said he would be fully functional again once he had an auto-mail hand. Right now, that seemed a very long, difficult, painful road ahead, and it scared him. Right now, he was crippled; crippled because of a decision on that battlefield that had proven to be worthless. He hadn't saved anyone. He wasn't a hero.  
He couldn't stand his family treating him like he was. His mother and Shelby catered to his every whim even for things he could do himself. If they kept cooking the way they had been, if he ever got back into uniform, he was going to be too fat to stuff himself into the ones in his closet.

Or maybe not. He'd been assured that physical therapy for auto-mail, even for an arm, would be rigorous enough he'd be getting plenty of exercise. All Charlie could imagine was how much the pain would kill his appetite. It still did most days.

He didn't deserve the treatment he was getting.

He didn't deserve Shelby.

After everything he had done that had nearly destroyed their relationship, here she was, doing everything: taking care of him, raising their kids, attending college courses, working a part-time job, and—while she didn't talk about it—he knew she was working in time somewhere in there to exercise, because it was clear that in the time he'd been gone, she had made strides in recovering her pre-pregnancy body. Okay, she was never going to look like she had in high school again—not that Charlie was bothered by that—but she was definitely losing weight. _I need to find a good time to compliment her,_ he thought. He thanked her for every meal, but he needed to tell her he'd noticed.  
College was where she was now, picking up her scores from the finals she had taken on Friday.

Charlie expected good news. He couldn't imagine Shelby getting anything but top marks.

He had just finished his soda when he heard the door open.

"It's me!" Shelby's voice announced, letting him know who had come in the door. He heard her footsteps—light bouncy ones—coming down the hall and into the living room. Then she appeared beside the couch, beaming. "And I have great news!"

"You got As."

She pouted, but it was clearly a fake pout. "You guessed."

Charlie managed a smile. She was so cute when she was happy with herself. "Shels, you're one of the best students I know. I never doubted you'd be anything but great at college."

That was definitely the right thing to say. She beamed, then leaned over and kissed him. "I was thinking… do you want to go out tonight?"

His tongue stuck in his mouth. What? "Out?"

"You know, just you and me." Shelby smiled. "My grandparents will watch the kids. It doesn't have to be anywhere fancy, just… not here. Take in dinner, maybe go for a stroll, or a movie if you're up for it. You've been in the house or at medical appointments for weeks. We should have some fun, and I feel like celebrating. That is… if you're up to it."  
How could he say no to that hopeful face? Charlie couldn't remember the last time the two of them had been alone together, not meaningfully. But the idea of going out in public with his stump… his outward sign of failure.

"Sure," he said before he could back out of it. He made his smile bigger. "I'm up for it. Like you said, nowhere fancy. Though I should probably put on real pants...and maybe shave."

Shelby chuckled. "I'll help if you need it."

"I might." With both. Still, maybe getting out was what he needed. Sitting here day after day, or talking to doctors, was not improving his disposition. A change of pace and some fresh air might be just the thing.

As it turned out, he did need help with both the pants, and holding a steady enough razor to shave off almost two weeks' worth of beard. Though his jeans had fit just as well as ever, so maybe his other concerns were for nothing. A clean shirt, with the flannel over it, and he looked markedly more presentable. He was grateful for the loafers his mother had bought. Slip on shoes were much easier to wear, and at least the leather shoes looked good.

By the time he was done with the rest of his hygiene regimen, Shelby was ready to go. While she had said casual, she had chosen a just-below-the-knee length dress he didn't recognize, with a collared v-neck that tied at the waist, in a simple floral pale-green-and-white print. It was very flattering, and it accentuated her figure nicely.

"Wow." Charlie grinned. "You look hot."

Shelby's face flushed. "It's nothing special."

"Well, _you_ are," Charlie objected, moving close enough to take her hand in his. "I know I've been mostly a lump lately, but I don't want you think I haven't noticed you."

"You're sweet." She squeezed his hand back, though her tone implied she didn't entirely believe him.

Was this lack of confidence his fault? How had he not noticed it before? "I'm serious. You're beautiful. So beautiful I can't decide if I should show you off, or be worried someone else will try to steal you away from me."

Now she was blushing bright red, but the look in her eyes said she believed him. "Then let's go to dinner before you change your mind," she suggested. "Do you want to walk?"

Charlie nodded. "Sure." It was only a few blocks to the nearest restaurants, and the spring weather was perfect for it. Besides, he could stand to stretch his legs and move around a bit. "Where did you want to go? This is your celebratory meal after all."

"There's a new Kartosian place that just opened up," she suggested as they went back downstairs and headed for the door. "Everyone in class has been giving it great reviews. Are you feeling adventurous?"

"I'm up for anything," he assured her.

If it would keep that smile on her face, he would be adventurous forever.


	34. Chapter 34

**May 3** **rd** **, 1990**

The train ride to Resembool was as safe and uneventful as Sara had assured Franz it would be. In fact, aside from her continued restless dream-filled sleep, it was mostly relaxing and enjoyable. Sara spent a lot of her time reading, or sitting in the observation car, sipping tea or coffee, and often talking with any variety of people who took the time to sit across from her and chat.

Some of them recognized her, and some were just generally social travelers. Or, if they did notice her, were polite enough not to bring it up. Those were wonderful conversations, where they talked just as travelers, people who were meeting only briefly in passing, with the shared experience of traveling together for a short span. They talked about traveling in general, and how uncomfortable trains generally were, and where they were going. Nothing too specific, but business or pleasure; to visit family or interview for a job. She had the pleasure of playing a game of chess with a man just a little older than her, going to visit his granddaughters. Another lady traveling alone on her way to a real estate conference, aside from being a great conversationalist, was also an excellent card player.

Not a single reporter came near her the entire trip. She wasn't convinced a few did not try, but the train staff never let them get that close, since none of them at the stations had actually purchased tickets, and she never got off at stops.

Then there were the few, the very few, who would ask, almost timidly, who she was. When asked, she did not deny it. After all, everyone had seen her on television, and while her hair had grown out another couple of inches, she only succeeded in looking more like herself. These people would wish her well, and politely—if prompted—ask questions. They were never very personal questions, but they would ask because they honestly wanted to know. How did it feel to be back? What had she missed most? What was the thing most different about being trapped in Drachma? How had she kept her sanity?

But mostly, they wanted to tell her how happy they were that she was home, and tell her that they hoped she was getting the treatment she deserved, and that she was getting to do all the things she wanted to, and healing quickly. Sara gave simple answers, but positive ones. Their concern and good will were genuine, and she wasn't about to be rude, or turn them away. Firstly, because they were just nice people who cared, and secondly, because it was a good way—calculating as it might be—to spread good will and continue to dispel rumors about her that might be lingering. The more people she spoke to, the better.

So, she arrived in Resembool feeling refreshed and positive, on a misty spring morning about an hour after breakfast, to find her parents waiting at the station.

"Long time no see," her father quipped jokingly as they hugged, before he picked up her suitcases. A porter helped them with the wheelchair, as Sara made her way down to the car with her crutches. The station was as small as ever, so it only took a couple of minutes to get situated.

The weather must have been nice lately, because her father had the top down on his convertible.

"It looks like you had a good trip," her mother commented as she got in the back, giving Sara the front passenger seat. "You look relaxed."

"It was," Sara agreed as they pulled out of the station and rolled off down the road. Sara couldn't take her eyes off of everything, drinking it in. Some things were just the same as her last visit, and others were very different. "It's grown so much!"

Ed chuckled. "It keeps doing that. For some reason people started thinking Resembool was a place for coming to. Your brother's got his hands full with all the improvement projects going on around here, and the growing population."

"I thought the population boom was mostly coming from Aldon's offspring," Sara snickered. She knew that Reichart and Deanna had _seven_ now. When she had last been home, they had just had the fifth. She also knew Urey had re-marred, though she had never met the woman, or their child. She doubted Yurian would even remember her, though he was eleven.

"Not all of it," Winry commented, "but enough. You won't believe the crowds we get at the festivals now. They've had to extend the festival another two days, just to accommodate the number of people coming and wanting to see everything."

"So, my quiet vacation isn't really going to be all that quiet."

"Is that a problem?" Her father looked honestly concerned, though his eyes remained on the road.

Sara shook her head. "No! Actually, I'm looking forward to it. I came here to relax and enjoy myself, not be bored to tears."

His creased brow eased and Ed chuckled. "That's my girl."

It was a short, pleasant drive up to the house on the hill. Sara got herself up the stairs and in the door using only her crutches, while her parents carried her things. Inside, she was mobbed by two huge, curious fluffy dogs. She knew Mal had died, but she hadn't yet met Jacob and Wilhelm, who were apparently still very new, and the kittens, which were less new, but still young.

"Cats, Dad?" she grinned at her father.

"What can you do?" Ed shrugged. "They keep the mice out."

Sara watched one of the cats twining around her father's legs. "Whatever you say."

"We gave you one your usual room on the second floor," her mother explained. "You said a single flight of stairs wouldn't be a problem."

"Not at all," she assured them. "I've been going up and down the stairs at home for over a week. As long as I take it slow, I'm stable enough. It will be good training without being too much."

"Good." Her father nodded. "It's your usual one right at the top of the stairs." He picked up her bags again and started up.

Sara followed, demonstrating that she was perfectly capable of hobbling up a flight of stairs on her own.

She recognized the room. It was one of the many guest rooms they had for family, and the one she and Franz had used before, next to the room she was told Uncle Alphonse and Aunt Elicia now lived in, when they were home, and not in Central. Little about it had changed. The paint was the same, as were the curtains, though there was a new comforter. The light green of the room, and the pastel-green-blue-and-rose florals were calming. The windows were open to let in the breeze, but screened to keep out the bugs. "It's perfect."

"What would you like to do?" her mother asked as they got her things settled. "Most of the family will be over this afternoon and evening, after work and school get out for the day, but that leaves you with several hours to relax."

"Well, I'm not tired." She had only been up for a couple of hours. "I think I'd like to just look around the house a bit, re-familiarize myself with everything, and maybe take an extra-slow appreciative stroll through the gardens before lunch. After that, maybe lounge in a hammock under a tree and read a book. I might be ready for a nap by then."

"Nice to see you haven't forgotten how to relax," her father joked.

"Well, let's just say I have a new appreciation for taking the time out for the little things," Sara suggested. Before, she had always been on the go, busy, driving forward with everything she had. She had made time for Franz, and for her children, but not for much else outside of duty. Now, it was like being given that gift of time back again. She wasn't going to waste it. "If it were warmer, I'd think about going for a swim."

"If you stay as long as you're planning, the pool will be open and ready for use, and filled to the brim with family enjoying summer."

He had a point. "That sounds perfect to me."

* * *

"You look about as relaxed as I feel these days."

The sarcastic quip made Franz look up from the piles of paperwork on his desk. Cal Fischer stood in the doorway of his office, arms folded, leaning against the door.  
"Are you here for a work-related reason, General, or just to comment on my appearance?" Franz asked, pushing his glasses up his nose and trying to put something resembling humor behind the quip. He failed.

"I had orders."

"From whom?"

"My wife… who got them from your wife, I think." Cal shrugged. "Something about making sure you didn't worry yourself ragged."

Franz refrained from sighing aloud. He'd had _someone_ check in on him almost every day since Sara had left. Yesterday, it had been Tore Closson. The day before that, his own son. "Look, I'm fine. There's just a lot to do if I'm going to get out of here when I promised Sara I would." The one thing he wanted right now, more than anything, was to be on a train down to Resembool.

He also didn't want to leave his office before _someone_ called him to tell him Sara had made it there safely.

Cal shook his head. "No dice, Boss. I'm too afraid of both of those ladies to defy their orders. They're supposed to be serving some beef-stuffed peppers dish from Aerugo in the mess for lunch. It'll do you good to get out of that chair before you're glued to it."

Franz was about to object when the phone rang. Glaring at Cal, he picked it up. "Heimler here."

"Well don't you sound official, and irritated," the most beautiful voice in the world chuckled on the other end of the line.

Immediately his stress levels dropped to half. _Thank goodness._ "I thought your train was supposed to get in this morning!"

"It did, right on time," Sara replied. "I was going to call, but I got a little caught up, and then I fell asleep and took a short nap. I figured I should call you before you went to lunch. I haven't held you up have I?"

"No….in fact your goon squad is standing in my doorway." Franz glanced at Cal, whose grin just widened knowingly.

Sara apparently wasn't even going to pretend she didn't know what he meant. "Is it Tore or Cal?"

"It's Fischer."

"Well good. Go be social for half an hour and stop worrying about if my train derailed and plummeted off a non-existent bridge because there aren't any between here and Central, that you somehow missed hearing about for days…and go eat something that isn't a donut with coffee."

None of the things that ran through his mind were good things to say in response to that statement. Franz couldn't even object and pretend he'd had anything else of substance to eat today. "All right, all right." He gave in. "I'm going. Just, promise me you'll be up if I call you this evening when I get home."

"Promise me you'll be home before midnight."

"Deal."

"Love you."

"I love you, too." When he hung up, Cal looked smugger that a cat in dairy.

"So, lunch?" Cal asked too-casually.

Franz stood up, pushing his chair back from the desk. "Sure. Lunch."

* * *

Sara had been academically prepared to meet the rest of the family living in Resembool—as it had grown—but that was still apparently not quite enough to be ready to be presented with the full reality. She had seen Aldon and Cassie in Central, though not for nearly as long as she'd like, but she hadn't seen Reichart and Deanna, or Urey, in what now seemed a lifetime. When she had last seen them, Reichart and Deanna's eldest had been ten, and Urey's little boy just about three, she thought.

Now Rhiana was almost eighteen, and not a child at all really, but a young woman who, in the fall, would be in her final year of high school. From there on down, her brothers were sixteen, fourteen, ten-and-a-half, and eight down to the last one Sara had even heard of. Lochlan had been a newborn. The last two little ones she had never met were already six and three.

"You are _done_ , right?" Sara asked, perhaps tactlessly, but with an amused smile at Reichart and Deanna once she had been through the parade of introductions, and the children had vanished all over the house and yard in twos or threes to hang out or play.

Reichart shrugged, but his face reddened.

Deanna laughed. "Oh yes, we're done. I am quite content to love on other people's babies and wait for grandchildren at this point. Though hopefully those are at least a couple of years off."

Sara noticed that none of the teenagers were still in the room to hear that comment. "Is that likely?" she asked, perfectly willing to be nosy.

"Not right now, thankfully." Reichart looked relieved. "Rhiana's not dating anyone seriously, and neither are Owen or Caelian." The rest were still too young to be interested.  
She couldn't help it. Sara eyed him. "You're one to talk. As I recall we pretty much celebrated your graduation and your marriage without time to breathe in between. You didn't even wait until graduation to propose."

"It seems a lot younger in hindsight than it did at the time," Reichart pointed out.

"Uh, huh. I'm sure it does."

Urey and family arrived a little closer to dinner, and it was then that Sara got to find out why the family of only four took so much longer to get anywhere than the horde. Urey arrived with Yurian, and carrying the adorable toddler that Sara knew now to be Brynne, holding the door for the woman Sara knew only as his new wife.

The transformation in Urey—given when last she had seen him, he had still been struggling with the loss of his first wife—was immediately obvious. He looked relaxed and happy, and Sara immediately understood why, as Raina came in behind, smiling brightly, not at all shy, and also notably pregnant.

"It's an honor to meet you," Raina said as Sara insisted on hugging both of them hello instead of sticking with hand-shakes.

"The honor is mine," Sara insisted, then more quietly in her ear, "Thank you."

Raina did not ask what she meant, but her eyes said she understood as they stepped apart.

Dinner was a crowded, noisy, happy affair, as all family dinners were supposed to be, in Sara's opinion. There wasn't physically room at the dining table for the entire family, so they moved it outside under two picnic tables under the large shade trees on the side of the house.

The food itself consisted of a huge casserole made up of beef, and veggies, and pasta, soaking in a sweet tomato sauce, with thick slices of garlic bread, and with blackberry pies for dessert, using the first berries off the thicket of bushes growing behind Reichart and Deanna's house. It was quintessentially Amestrian, and it was absolutely delicious.

"Had enough?" Aldon asked his sister with a look of amusement as Sara finished off a full plate of seconds.

"Asks the man who's on thirds," Sara quipped, though she smiled. " _I_ am under medical orders to at least try and put back on all the weight I lost in Drachma. What's your excuse?"

Cassie covered her mouth, giggling into it from the other side of Aldon.

Her brother glanced between them both, then gave Cassie a wary eye. "Don't you start."

"I didn't say anything," Cassie managed to get out without squeaking.

The conversation inevitably turned to other things, and Sara enjoyed listening to Reichart, Deanna, Urey, and Raina talk about all the goings on of Resembool beyond the Mayor's office, and their daily lives, and what the children were up to. Sara asked plenty of questions of all of them, even the children, which they seemed to love since they had a new audience.

After they ate, the children scattered once more, in and out of the house, playing games, or sitting and talking, leaving the adults to themselves, though neither of the families stayed too late. Children needed to be in bed, and school wasn't entirely out yet, so even the older ones had school. So eventually it was down once more to herself, her parents, and Aldon and Cassie.

"They've all grown up while I've been away," Sara mused over a cup of tea as they all sat on rocking chairs overlooking the gardens. "Ours I mean, not just the grandchildren. Your boys and Callie are not only grown and out of the house, but they're experienced adults now, with careers, or families… some have both, and it's quite the spread, isn't it? Auto-mail Engineer, Artist and Nurse, International Movie Star, Pharmacist, State Alchemist, and professional Photographer; all doing different things, all incredible."  
Aldon and Cassie both looked pleased and proud, not that Sara would have expected less. "It'd be nice if we could see half of them more often," Aldon admitted, "But it was nice seeing Coran, Ian, Ted, and Callie while we were up in Central." For a moment, his expression soured, and Sara thought she knew why.

"Worried about Ted?" she asked.

Aldon started. "You're altogether too good at reading people, you know that?"

"I've always been good at reading people." Sara shrugged. "I admit, I've been gone a long time, but he's seemed very distracted since he got back from Drachma, even discontent with successful missions. All I could get out of Roy was that it involves a woman." Which, given the history she'd gotten about Ted and that subject even since getting home, was immediately complicated. The boy seemed to be a walking relationship disaster.

Cassie was the one who nodded. "That's pretty much all we've learned either, and not from Ted. We know she's fighting on the same side as the Mihalov, and helped Ted and his team get into Karmatsk for the extraction, and something about her being involved in assisting with the classified mission Ted and Roy completed on their way home which, I am very suspicious, involved the jailbreak we heard about before they got back, and maybe the exploding airfield?" She looked suspiciously at Sara, then back at Ed, who looked like he wanted to say something.

Even at home, Sara knew better. "You know as much as I do on that," she admitted. "Re-instated as living and on leave or not, there are a lot of things I haven't been told, and won't be, until I step into Headquarters as a State Alchemist again. I just wondered if you might have gotten anything more out of him."

There was a synchronized shaking of heads. "I wish we did," Aldon admitted. "He seems even more hung-up on this one than the last, and I don't think we can count on distance to be an easing factor given it's already been months."

"Not if she returned his feelings." Sara thought of Maes and Elena, or Jean Stevens and his wife. Sometimes a relationship that blossomed in wartime might last a lifetime. Or even her own adolescent crush on the nerdy eighteen-year-old soldier she had met on a battlefield she wasn't supposed to be on.

The one who was now her husband, and the President of the Military.

"Or at least if he believed it," Aldon sighed. "Ian's positive he does."

"Why's that?"

"Because apparently he had Ted over a couple of weeks ago and that's pretty much all Ted would talk about."

"You didn't tell me that." Cassie was staring at her husband.

Aldon smiled. "Hey, I have to save some news for random moments like this one." The smiled faded a little. "Also, Ian wasn't supposed to tell me, but he was worried, so he did anyway. He said Ted's obsessed with this girl. He's dying for any word out of Drachma about her."

Cassie's brow furrowed. "I don't like that word."

"Ian's," Aldon continued. "Apparently Ted said he wished he'd stayed in Drachma, that he should have followed her instead of coming home."

"Well that's ridiculous." Cassie shook her head. "Of course he had to come home. He has family and duties here."

"That doesn't mean much if he's got feelings for her," Ed pointed out.

"He barely knows this woman!" Cassie leaned back, exasperated. The chair rocked sharply. "Who would run all over the world after someone that may not even return their feelings?!"

Sara noticed that, at the other end of the line of chairs, her mother had gone very quiet. "Mom?"

Everyone else went quiet. Her father particularly, and in the falling darkness, she thought he might be blushing.

Winry looked thoughtful, but also slightly upset. "Has it occurred to any of you that Ted's feelings may genuinely be love?" she asked simply. "Whether this young woman feels the same way or not doesn't change the fact that he had to leave her behind. Who here _wouldn't_ follow their loved ones into a war to protect them? Haven't we done it, time and time again?" She looked at Edward, then over at Sara. "The problem with this one, is it's a war we're not fighting, and he's been forbidden to step into again. The border is closed, and the news he's dying to hear isn't getting through, if there is any at all. _We_ weren't there to see them together. Who are we to call him merely obsessed? Just because his previous relationships haven't worked out, doesn't mean he's not hurting right now."

Sara could see the embarrassment and hint of shame on her brother's face, and Cassie's.

"You're right." Ed leaned over and kissed his wife's cheek. "I just wish there was something we could do."

"Well, _you've_ done enough," Winry replied, reaching over and squeezing his hand. "Rescuing Sara, and teaching our grand-daughter and others to fly that crazy thing to pull off a rescue out of Karmatsk. Do you think you stay retired for more than a few months this time?"

Her father grinned. "I'll _try_ , but no promises."


	35. Chapter 35

**May 11** **th** **, 1990**

When Drachma exploded, the whole world new it. Overnight, major strike forces working for the government in Petrayevka struck the homes of prominent members of the provisional resistance government, whether or not they were in Karmatsk, destroying huge ancient estates that had stood for centuries.

One of those, a news broadcast out of Petrayevka proudly exclaimed, was the Marskaya Estate, home of decorated now-fugitive General Marskaya and his family, which had reportedly been besieged within the home for weeks. The one thing not reported—which to anyone with common sense meant that deaths had not been confirmed—was that anyone had been captured. Only that locals continued to resist, even though there was no hope of winning. At the other Estates, all of the people living on them who had survived had surrendered.

As soon as he heard the words Marskaya Estate, Franz had cringed. He was not at all surprised when, within the first hour of work, the Proteus Alchemist was in his office demanding to talk to him.

"I saw the news, Ted," Franz started before Ted could open his mouth. The last thing he needed was to let his nephew get up any steam, or he might not stop. He was, in some things, too much like his grandfather. "We simply cannot be involved."

Apparently, Ted wasn't about to be dissuaded by basic common sense. "How can you just sit there and say that?" he demanded. "There are people out there dying! _Our allies._ "

"No," Franz corrected him. "They are Mihalov's allies. Yes, they may be on the side of this conflict with which we sympathize and which we may, providence willing, be on good terms with again when this is all over if they survive and manage to reestablish peaceful government…but they are not _our_ allies. I understand your feelings, Ted, but Amestris cannot get involved in this war more than we already have. Even with their military scattered, Drachma poses a significant threat to our national security if we provoke them, especially with the madman currently in control."

"Fine, let _me_ go," Ted retorted, leaning over the desk, his hands resting on Franz' paperwork. "Or what about the plane? We fly in under cover of night, snatch whoever's left, and bring them back here."

"Openly over a closed border? We'd be declaring war if anyone so much as saw or heard that plane." Franz shook his head. "The few who have come over the border on their own these past weeks being quietly allowed to pass through on their way to Creta or Aerugo are the most we can safely do. They've all been escorted through and none have remained that could be spies. We allowed an exception to send a man to deliver that letter from Mihalov to his wife only because it was nowhere near any of the combat zones or controlled areas."

"But…I could do it!" Ted's voice quivered with desperation and anger. "We got in, and we got out. We could do it again. Go undercover, and find them, and bring them back—"

"This isn't a civilian matter," Franz cut him off more sharply, scowling. "You're talking about a highly politicized zone, to pull out a military officer and his family. An officer who, I might add, led troops _against us_ in a war attempting to conquer us less than thirty years ago. It doesn't matter if he's apologized and recanted… the public won't care. Bring him here, and you might as well put him on trial for military war crimes right now."

Ted's face was turning red. "Fine! Then just let me get the civilians!"

"I said _no,_ _Lieutenant Colonel_." Franz refused to stand, to get riled, but it was really hard with Ted standing there glaring him down with no regard for rank or responsibility. "Amestris will not become embroiled in this internal Drachman matter any further. We're fortunate they haven't turned their attention on our northern border, and we can only hope that it stays that way."

Desperation boiled over. " _That's not good enough!"_ Ted shouted. "Are we cowards now? Is Amestris _afraid_ to do what's right? We went into Aerugo when their government was taken over. We went into Xing to help them fight a civil war. You _led our troops!_ When did you become a coward?"

Franz felt his blood surging as he fought to keep his own temper in check. "You overstep yourself, Proteus," he replied, barely repressing a growl. "We were _asked_ to get involved in Aerugo… and in Xing were not only invited, we were _begged_. In both instances by governments desperate for peace and stability. We had strength and tactical advantage in Aerugo. We had the support of a large portion of the Xingese military in Xing, and we only needed to take back the Capitol. _You were there._ You know that. Your own insubordination nearly cost us that entire operation and it was just _dumb luck_ you succeeded."

Ted looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

Franz did not give him time to reply. "We have _not_ been asked for military support from anyone within any form of Drachman government. We've given the Karmatsk government our verbal support and thanked them for protecting innocent foreigners until we could retrieve them. That is all they have asked for, and it is all we will give. The fact that I _allowed_ you to stay long enough to rescue General Marskaya and the other prisoners, and destroy the Petrayevka airfields should be more than enough to satisfy your sense of honor. Now, I expect you to behave like any other officer in this military and _do your duty and follow my orders._ Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." Ted was quivering so hard with fury that Franz could see him vibrating. In truth, Franz was angry enough right now he could feel it in himself. Ted reached into his pocket and pulled out his State Alchemist watch. Looking at it for several seconds, he ripped the chain off his belt, and dropped it on the desk. "I hereby resign my commission in the Amestrian military as a State Alchemist." The words came out quiet, but firm.

Franz met Ted's gaze with a hard one of his own. "I don't accept."

"With all respect, _Mr. President,_ I don't give a damn." Ted did not avert his eyes. "I can't sit by and watch any longer, and I can't in good conscience follow these orders. Accept it or not, I'm done, and I'm leaving." Then he turned and strode to the door, pulled it open, and slipped out.

The door shut firmly behind him, leaving Franz staring first at the door, then down at the watch. For a brief moment, he contemplated sending someone after Ted, but decided against it almost immediately. The young man was angry, and frustrated, and worried about someone he cared about. Obviously, it had clouded his judgment more than anyone had realized.

 _Give him time. He'll cool off._ And when he did, he would come back, and apologize, and sheepishly ask if he could have the watch back. Since no paperwork had been filed, and Franz' didn't think anyone would have heard the last part, as quietly as Ted was speaking… he didn't have to do anything about it until Ted actually didn't show up for work.

 _You've put me in a really tough position kid. If doing my job means I have to actually end your career… I don't want to know how I'll explain it to Sara… or your parents._

* * *

Ted didn't bother to go to his office. He simply left the building, walking briskly. Looking like he was leaving on business, not a single person stopped to question him.  
His first feeling was elation at having told off his superior and demanded his way, followed almost immediately by a wave of panic at what he had just done—thrown away his entire career.

Shortly there-after it cycled around to determination, and then the whole thing started over.

There was only two things Ted knew for certain. He _had_ to get back into Drachma, and he had to find Anika. She couldn't be dead… if she was, he was sure somehow, he'd know. That, and the news would certainly have reported any confirmed death of the Marskaya family, who were all on the new government's hit list. All he knew, deep in his gut, was that he had to get her to quickly.

He was home only long enough to change into civilian clothing, and pack a single, non-descript backpack of basic clothing and supplies, and all the remaining Drachman money he had left from their escape that Anika had given him. It wasn't much, but it should be enough to get him to the Marskaya estate. If he moved fast enough, it was possible that the old Drachman truck he and Roy had abandoned in the mountains north of Briggs might still be there. There had still been almost half of a tank of gas in it at the time. If not, he'd walk, or hitchhike, or whatever it took.

He was on his way out the door when behind him, the phone started ringing. For just a moment, he hesitated, then his resolve hardened and he locked the door without looking back. He had to go, or they would try to stop him. It didn't matter that he had resigned. They would try.

 _I'm coming Anika. Please… just please hold on for me. Once we're together, I'll find a way to keep you safe._

 **May 12** **th** **, 1990**

 _"What do you mean my son is gone?"_ Cassie shouted into the phone so loud that Aldon came running from the bathroom, still in his bathrobe and face half-shaven.

"Who's gone?" he asked, his heart pounding in his chest. "Who is that?" He crammed his face up next to hers by the phone. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry," Franz' voice came across the line. He sounded incredibly tired. "Ted didn't show up for work this morning and no one has seen him since yesterday. He hasn't answered his phone and no one saw him go into his apartment last night or come out this morning. There's no trace of him."

" _Why would he be gone?"_ Cassie continued, looking near to hysterics. The threatening, accusing tone in her voice said she was looking for someone to blame.

Before Aldon could tell her to calm down for a moment, Franz answered.

"I ordered him to stay out of Drachma," Franz explained. "He saw the news yesterday about the Marskaya estate, and he came to see me, demanding we make a rescue attempt. I explained why we couldn't, and he tried to resign his commission on the spot."

"Resign?" Aldon almost dropped his shaving brush, which was still in hand. "You didn't accept it."

"Of course not," Franz retorted. "But he stormed out. I figured he'd cool off, and come back and apologize. You know how he is, but now he's missing, and if we don't locate him soon, I'll have to declare him AWOL, and then whenever we find him, he'll be up for Court Martial even if I didn't put down his verbal resignation. There's only so much I can do, under the law."

"I understand, Franz," Aldon cut in before Cassie could go off on him anymore. "Have you checked the bars?" It was possible that his son had just gone somewhere to sulk, and gotten himself too drunk to go home. Which would be better, at least, than harrying off into someone else's war zone. _Obsessed indeed. Damn it, Ian was right._

"His team checked every one in town. No one saw him yesterday after he left my office, except to say they saw him walk out of Headquarters looking like he was on official business. He didn't say anything to anyone. I've got Investigations checking the train station to see if he bought a ticket, and where to, but right now we're waiting for news. I just wanted you to know before anything else happened and… apologize."

That, at last, seemed to cool Cassie's steam. "It's not your fault, Franz," she replied. "Just…find my boy."

"I'm working on it."

When they hung up, Cassie fell into his arms, and Aldon wrapped them around her, still too stunned to feel anything strongly himself except shock. "He's got to be headed north," she murmured into his robe. "Where else would he go? If he's obsessed with this Drachman girl… and he wants to rescue her. They'll stop him at the border, won't they?"

"I'm sure they'll find him, Cass," Aldon rubbed her back with one hand. "How far can he get? He'll have to leave some kind of trail—money if nothing else—and he won't have access to military resources." He hoped she believed it, because he wasn't sure he did. Ted was incredibly resourceful, and State Alchemist or no…he was an alchemist of incredible capabilities. If there was one thing his father's stories had taught him, Aldon knew better than to under-estimate what Ted might be capable of doing.

 **May 14** **th** **, 1990**

The trail went cold before it even got to North City. They could prove that Ted had, in fact, bought a ticket for North City, but he had never arrived at the end of the line, which he should have the night before, which meant he might have gotten off at any stop along the route, and changed direction.

Which meant he had anticipated that Franz would believe he was doing what he had claimed, and would have sent pursuit to keep him from violating the neutral border.  
Even with Briggs on quiet alert—they had been told to keep an eye out for the Lieutenant Colonel and require him to report in when located, since that had worked the last time—no one had seen him. Not there, not in North City, and not anywhere else along the line, could he find evidence of Ted Elric, or even anyone who recognized his description.

A disguise? It was possible. If he wanted to slip back into Drachma looking like a refugee, he'd do well to change his appearance and blend in. With alchemy, he could have managed just about anything, including changing the color of his hair.

So, he had to deal with an AWOL State Alchemist, on top of Drachma's renewed push for control and domination. What was worse, was the televised speech the night before suggesting that perhaps it was time for Drachma to once more consider _expansion._ The direct statement regarded a more direct military control of all of Drachma, including the most distant provinces, but that meant all the way up to the borders of every bordering country, and there was a strong hint that they might try to reclaim lands that had, at some time, been under Drachman control… like Kartos, and some of the smaller independent areas that had come to be part of Northern Amestris during the hundreds of years Amestris had been slowly expanding and consolidating.

The Assembly, his Generals, and anyone out in the civilian population who might have seen the broadcast or heard of it, was already buzzing about what it could mean for Amestris. What if Drachma chose to invade again after all, because they had tried to extricate their people from Karmatsk and had nominally sided with Mihalov? Could Amestris withstand a second invasion? Or what if they invated Kartos, or Creta, or made inroads across the northern desert into Xing and the territories north? Would Amestris be called upon as an ally and swept up in an international war?

The people wanted answers. The Assembly wanted a detailed analysis of all of the likely possibilities and the capabilities of Amestris in all situations, as well as Franz' recommendations of where and when they should, or should not, get involved.

Franz had slept, for maybe a few minutes last night, on the couch in his office. Unable to remain asleep he had given up, and spent most of the night plowing through information and possibilities, writing reports, and draining the coffee pot to the dregs.

But it was catching up with him. _I need a nap._ If he didn't get one, he was going to be useless in the meeting that afternoon. Just a short power nap. If he put his head down for a minute, he'd be refreshed, and he could finish the paperwork blurring in front of him that refused to make sense…

* * *

"Somehow I never thought I'd find you out here basking in serenity."

Sara opened her eyes at the sound of her father's amused tone. From her position on the ground in the center of his meditation circle in the Xingese style garden, she had to look up at him. "It's amazing how good you get at focusing your mind and working through things in solitary," she quipped, before realizing how callous it sounded. It was how she had kept her sanity though.

Fortunately, this was her father. Edward shrugged, and smiled sympathetically. "Well, I hope my garden is a more pleasant place than that. It's certainly been a good refuge for thinking things through for me over the years, so use it as much as you want. Did I interrupt anything particularly profound?"

Sara shook her head. "Not really. I actually thought it would just be a good way to make myself sit still for a while and exhibit a little patience. I was in danger of over-exerting my leg if I did any more walking or helping out around the house, and I wasn't tired enough to take a nap."

Ed nodded. "So, did you manage to clear your thoughts, or find eternal enlightenment?"

"Not at all." Sara shook her head. "Though I think I may have identified every bird in hearing distance of your yard by call. You have some interesting ones."

"Did you hear the whippoorwill, or the nut-hatch?"

"Both, I think." Sara shifted her seat, and unfolded a little more so she could brace herself into a position to stand. She hadn't been able to quite fold herself in with both legs crossed with her knee, but she had gotten partially there.

"Want a hand?"

"Yes please." Sara appreciated the offer as she took her father's hand, startled by how much strength was still left in him as he pulled her to her feet with minimal apparent effort. She also appreciated that he asked if she wanted it, not needed it. "What do you lift these days?" she blurted out as he let go.

"These days, mostly groceries," her father admitted, though he looked pleased. "I still do most of the handiwork around the house too," he added after a moment. "Have to find something to do to keep busy in my retirement."

Sara almost choked on a snort of disbelief. "Retired from what, flying airplanes through enemy territory, dodging mountains at night while being shot at?"

"I'm probably retired from that, yes." His golden eyes were bright with amusement. "Your Mom seems to prefer me with my feet on the ground. Though my head can remain in the clouds as long as it involves me sitting at my typewriter."

Sara smiled. "Well, I for one will always be grateful that my father is a reckless, crazy alchemist who never gives up… especially on his family." She pulled him impulsively into a hug.

The firm, strong grip of her father's arms around her as he returned it tightly was still one of the most reassuring feelings in the world.

As the moment ended, and they released each other, Sara heard the back door to the house open.

"Sara?" her mother's voice called even as Winry hurried out onto the porch.

Her smile faded as she saw the worried look on her mother's face. "I'm right here, Mom. What's wrong?"

In a rare moment, Winry hesitated. "Trisha's on the phone."

* * *

"What do you mean _heart attack?"_

Trisha winced at the loud shout that came through the phone in the hospital waiting room. "Dad's secretary found him in his office when he heard something hit the floor," she explained, trying to keep her voice calm despite her own emotional state. "They called for a medic and emergency medical assistance immediately and brought Dad to the hospital. He's stable now," she reminded her mother, since her first statement had been _Dad's fine but he had a heart attack at work earlier._ "They didn't contact me _or_ James until they had him in an ambulance." A fact that still irritated her, even though there was nothing they could have done in that moment. They had rushed over from Headquarters only a few minutes behind.

"Does stabilized mean the danger is over? Do they know what caused it? Was there any permanent damage?" her mother rattled off a string of questions and just kept going.

"Mom…Mom!" Trisha finally managed to cut her off. "I can't answer if you don't breathe."

"Sorry." She heard her mother take a long, deep, calming breath. "I'm listening."

"I don't have a lot of answers yet, and I don't think the doctors do either. They're running all sorts of tests, and we haven't been allowed in to see him, but they said he's awake now, breathing, and his heartbeat is regular again. They're monitoring Dad and as soon as they can, they said they'll let us in to see him. Uncle Ethan's with him."  
The tension on the line seemed to drop a notch with the mention of her uncle's name. Trisha knew it had made her feel better when she arrived to find out that he had already been at the hospital visiting a couple of patients, and had been summoned immediately when the emergency call came in. "Have you talked to him?"

"Not yet. We're just waiting right now. I wish I had more news, but I didn't think you'd ever forgive me if we waited even longer to call you."

"No, I'm… well this was the right time," her mother replied. "I want a call back as soon as you have news, preferably from your father if he's up to it."

"I'll see what we can do," Trisha promised, grateful her mother hadn't panicked. Or if she was panicking, she was holding it together incredibly well. "

* * *

"No, I don't think you should get on a train back to Central."

Sara stared at her father as if he had just lost his mind. "Would you like to explain _why?_ " she demanded, as she looked up at him from the dining table, where she had nearly collapsed into a chair after getting off the phone.

"Several reasons," her father replied almost too calmly. "First, if you're on a train no one will be able to reach you for days with any urgent news. Second, this is already going to be a potential political disaster when it hits the news…because it will, no matter how much the military tries to keep it quiet. If you're seen rushing back, no matter how minor this turns out to be, it will cause people to panic."

"Because returning to my husband's bedside isn't _exactly_ what every other married person in Amestris would do in my situation."

"Sarcasm will get you nowhere," Ed quipped, looking completely serious. "Third, you've just gotten bad news, and you're still healing. I'm not saying you shouldn't go home if you need to. What I am saying is the best thing you can do for both of you for now is to stay put until we know the full extent of the situation, then make a plan. If you need to get back to Central, I'll take you back myself."

Sara stared at him for several seconds, wondering if the news had caused her brain to stop working. "Did the _Fullmetal Alchemist_ just tell me to use caution and wait patiently instead of rushing in to action?"

"He did." Her father nodded. "It may only be a matter of hours before we have that information, but we can't know that. Trisha said he's stable. Even if he weren't, you would never get home in time to make an immediate difference in the outcome."

A fact that Sara absolutely hated. Still, she nodded. "I hate it when you talk sense."

"It can't be me all the time," her mother said then, giving her shoulder a squeeze with one hand. "You should do something. I promise I'll be right here by the phone."

As much as Sara was tempted to just sit there, waiting, she knew her mother was right. "I need to clear my head."

"You want to go back to the meditation garden?" her father offered.

"No." Sara shook her head. She didn't want to sit down again now. The last thing she wanted was to sit still. It would only make the waiting seem longer. "I need to hit something."

* * *

Ethan was beyond tired of finding himself at the hospital bedside of family members, even if that was a common enough occurrence given some of the crazy things his family chose to do for a living.

He was grateful that he had already been in the building when they got the emergency call that the President had collapsed in his office with apparent cardiac arrest, and that the medically trained soldiers at headquarters had known enough to keep him alive until the emergency team had arrived. As such things went, it was a relatively minor attack, not that he thought phrasing it that way with Sara was ever going to win him any best-brother points. Franz had been stabilized by the time he hit the hospital, and Ethan's part in his care was mostly exploratory, and damage repair. Though there was only so much even an alchemist could do. The heart would be fine, for now, but Ethan could not undo the underlying issues that had caused it. Not with alchemy.

He had called Sara himself, once Trisha and James had been allowed in to see their father. It was only when he'd explained the situation in full to her that he began to get angry, mostly because Sara's shock and anger made it clear to him that Franz had not been entirely forthcoming with her about his own health. There was a lot Sara had not known, and she had been furious enough that Ethan had refused to put her on a phone with Franz, because the last thing he needed was her upsetting a healing heart patient. His sister had some choice words to say when he'd denied her that opportunity—several in Drachman—but he'd remained firm. Ethan wanted to talk to Franz before letting them on a phone together.

So now he was waiting for Franz to awaken from a much-needed nap. Beside them, the monitors reading his vitals were thankfully steady. Ethan was not the primary care physician on the case, but that never seemed to matter. Alchemical physicians were given a bit of deference, even these days, given how often they were asked to consult in or assist with a variety of patients besides the ones who were officially seen by their clinic. In this case, Dr. Clemens had agreed that Ethan was probably the best person to have talk to Franz, particularly because he _was_ family.

Soon, Franz's eyes opened, and he squinted up at Ethan for several seconds before he asked, clearly unsure, "Ethan, is that you? Where are my glasses?"

"It's me," he confirmed. "The pair you were wearing broke when you collapsed on the floor in your office. James said he'd bring your spares from home. He's not back yet."  
Franz nodded slowly. "How long have I been out?"

"Since you collapsed in your office, or after you got here?"

"Let's say both." Franz' replies were groggy and slow.

"It's almost midnight," Ethan answered the question. "Your secretary found you at just before ten o'clock this morning. You were here and stabilized by ten-thirty, though I'm not surprised you don't remember much. We were finished with test draws and alchemical treatment by eleven. You've been asleep since."

Franz frowned. "I slept for twelve hours?"

Ethan felt a stab of irritation. "Something you probably should have been doing much sooner," he replied curtly, "instead of working yourself into heart problems."

Franz looked startled by his tone, then irritated. "You sound like I should have expected this," he retorted. "I've been in good health my whole life."

"Even generally healthy people can have problems under stress," Ethan pointed out bluntly. "You're _not_ young, Franz. You've been under a lot of undue stress lately, even more than usual, and you _haven't_ been addressing the issues discussed at your physicals. Your blood pressure's up, and I don't know why everyone at headquarters thinks you can live off coffee, but you can't. I swear there's more caffeine in your system than blood. Do you _know_ how much that can mess you up?" The last came out more sharply than he intended. _Damn, I'm tired._ "I hope you realize how damned lucky you are to be alive right now. If Sergeant Tillerman hadn't heard you hit the floor, you'd probably have died right there in your office, and how do you think that would have turned out? _The President of Amestris_ drops dead in the middle of an international crisis, throwing everything into chaos, and leaving his family to grieve his entirely preventable death."

Franz winced. "I get it," he replied.

"Do you?" Ethan wasn't done. "I had to tell my sister over the phone everything you've hidden from her since she got back, and talk her out of rushing back here on the next train. Dad's practically had to restrain her from that already. She's mad enough I think she might just kill you herself."  
Franz closed his eyes. "I didn't want her to worry about me."

"So, you lied."

"Not exactly."

"You told her you were fine."

Franz went silent, and only the monitors told Ethan that he hadn't fallen asleep again. It was nearly a minute before he spoke again. "What's the damage?"

"Fortunately for you, not much." _Because I was here._ "I was able to heal the immediate damage, but I can't cure the underlying causes. If you don't want to work yourself into another one, you're going to have to make some changes, starting now."

"Such as?"

"Well, for now, cutting a few things out of your diet entirely, at least until everything is back under control." Ethan shifted in the chair, stretching stiff muscles. "No caffeine or alcohol for starters. I'll have a more detailed list of foods and such to avoid before you leave the hospital. Suffice it to say you won't be choosing your meals from the cafeteria."

Franz sighed. "How long am I stuck here?"

"Until you're out of immediate danger and we've had a chance to observe you for a couple of days and be certain you'll be all right when we let you out," Ethan replied. "Right now, I expect that to be another two or three days before we release you to go home."

Franz opened his eyes again even though he could barely see, scowling. "I can't be out of work for four days."

Ethan shook his head. "Oh, you'll be out a lot longer than that. Dr. Clemens and I agree on that. You're not being cleared to go back to work for at least a month."

Franz started to sit up, but didn't make it halfway up before collapsing back against the pillow. "I can't… there's work…."

"Calm down," Ethan spoke in a quiet, firm tone. It was a clear order. "You have an entire office and a military full of trained officers who can handle the day-to-day work of your job, and you very well know that. They can handle the meetings, and presenting the solutions and scenarios you've all come up with to the Assembly. Unless you'd like to go ahead and schedule your retirement now, you'll take the time off you've been given by medical order and use it to rest and recuperate."

"So, what _will_ I be doing for a month then _?"_

At that, Ethan smiled a little. "Joining Sara in Resembool for that much needed and conveniently already scheduled vacation."

It was clearly not the answer Franz had expected, because his mouth fell slightly open, and no sound came out of it.

"It's the perfect answer," Ethan went on before Franz could pull together enough to object. "No one will question you taking a trip that was already scheduled, and it will keep the country from panicking about your health, because you know _something_ will hit the news, and better it be an official, reasoned statement from the military and your physicians than panic. Your office tells everyone that with things well in hand, and plans at the ready, you went ahead and took off a little early due to exhaustion; overwork in the name of duty. The true details, which are confidential anyway, stay quiet. Everyone understands a leader who would work himself into exhaustion for his people… they sympathize. It works out, and you get the time you need to recover in the peaceful tranquility of the countryside with Sara… after you apologize and she doesn't kill you."  
By the time he finished, Franz's mind seemed to have caught up. "Sounds like it's already planned," he groused.

"I wouldn't be surprised if your suitcases are waiting and packed when you get home," Ethan admitted. James and Trisha were firmly behind the plan enough that one or the other of them would demand to be assigned as part of his security detail for the train ride down to Resembool. They had been discussing it the last time Ethan spoke with them. "Now, with that out of the way, who do you want to talk to first?"

Franz blinked, clearly surprised. "Is anyone awake at this hour?"

"Everyone's awake…except maybe the smallest grand-babies," Ethan corrected. "I could call Resembool right now and I bet you Sara's waiting up. James went home, but he said he'd be back with a few of your things, like your spare glasses. Trisha is still sitting in the waiting room. I talked to your sister on the phone a couple of hours ago, because she insisted on speaking with a physician and not just taking James' word for everything."

Franz smiled weakly. "That…sounds like her. I… am tired," he admitted. "Should probably talk to Sara first."

Ethan nodded and reached for the phone at the bedside table. "Hopefully by now she's calmed down enough not to yell at either one of us."

* * *

Sara was tired of her emotions swinging not in arcs, but in complete circles. Her first reaction to the news that Franz had suffered a heart attack had been only a moment's shock, doubled with concern and frustration. Only training and years of patience in the face of helplessness had kept her calm enough to focus her energy elsewhere. She had gone out to where her father kept his sparring pels, around one of the larger trees out behind the house, and had pummeled on them—no kicks, not with her leg still healing, so all fists and arms—until she had worked out the surge of adrenaline and other emotions. By then, it had been late afternoon and she had been able to calm enough to sit down and eat, despite being edgy.

Then Ethan had called, and told her everything, and Sara had felt an irrational surge of anger. Irrational, because she knew Franz hadn't done anything to himself on purpose, but still furious that he had hidden from her the full truth, and simply told her that everything was fine, when he wasn't. It didn't matter that they had promised to be honest with each other, as they were re-learning each other, to support each other. He was supposed to stop worrying about her, and not get upset when she worried about him. They had talked, more than once, and it seemed that either none of what she had said had sunk in, or he had lied to make her happy.

Sara didn't like either option, or what it might imply about the state of her husband's mental health…or their relationship.

A long soaking bath, three cups of tea, and a failed attempt to read a book later, she was still awake, waiting down in her parent's sitting room for the phone to ring. Ethan had _promised_ her a call back as soon as Franz was coherent, no matter what the hour, and she had demanded that he keep that promise, even if it was the middle of the night.

Her parents had gone up to bed, though Sara wasn't sure if they were asleep. One thing she did know, her father could sleep at almost any time, even when he was worried, because he slept lightly, and because spending your life fighting wars meant you learned to catch sleep when and where you could. Normally, Sara would have tried to sleep too.

This was not a normal situation.

So she was sitting right next to the phone and had it to her ear before it had even finished the first ring. "Franz, is that you?"

"Almost," Ethan's voice disappointed her. "He's here, and he's awake for the moment, but he's tired, and you have to promise me you're not going to yell at my patient. I've already had it out with him, and you probably only have a few minutes."

Sara didn't bother to shake her head, since Ethan couldn't see it. "I'm not going to shout just…please… I need to talk to him."

"All right. I'm putting him on now." Then there was a moment of shifting, and what sounded like the receiver being adjusted.

Then a soft "Hi, Belle."

A twisted knot in her stomach released at hearing the sound of his voice, as if part of her only now truly believed that Franz was alive. "How do you feel?" she asked, not sure at that moment how to say half of what was running through her mind.

"Tired…sort of heavy…" Franz admitted, "And they've got me plugged into who all knows what since they haven't let me out of bed."

Sara knew how that was. "Can you _get_ out of bed?" she asked skeptically.

"Probably not right now… no."

At least he wasn't hiding it. "Ethan told me it will be a couple of days until they let you go home."

"That's what I've been told," Franz replied, sounding defeated. "Also that I'll be shipped out to join you pretty much as soon as they let me out of here. Looks like the military's just looking for an excuse to get rid of me for a while. Hope you don't mind sharing the bed."

"Now I'm sure they aren't really trying to get rid of you," Sara replied.

"That was supposed to be a joke."

"Oh. Sorry."

An attempt at a chuckle ended in a cough. "It's okay. It wasn't that funny."

Sara ached to be closer to him, but at least he would be joining her soon. Her father had been right not to let her jump back on a train. "Well, while I wish you'd found a less dramatic way to get off work early, I'll be glad to see you. I've missed you."

"I miss you, too, and… I'm sorry I worried you."

All this, and he was apologizing. Sara sighed. The rest was best discussed in person. For now, he needed calm and easy. "Apology accepted. Just… _tell me things_ from now on, okay?"

"I will… I promise."

"Good. Now, we can talk all we want when you get here. Right now rest, get well, and we'll talk again tomorrow."

"I look forward to it. Love you."

"Love you, too."

Then there was shuffling again, and she heard Ethan taking the receiver back. "Make that call around one in the afternoon, all right? We'll be making sure he's up for lunch and periodic testing and medication, so we should be done right about then, and he'll be awake."

"Thanks. I'll do that." Sara then grabbed the pencil and paper her mother left by the phone for messages, and took down the phone number for the room. "Thanks, Ethan…for everything." She didn't want to think what would have happened if Ethan hadn't been there, even though he insisted Franz had already been stabilizing before he got to the hospital. Having her brother there was reassuring in a way having the rest of the family there just wasn't quite, except maybe Ren, but Ren and Will had gone back to Xing for the rest of Will's sabbatical.

"You're welcome, Sis," Ethan replied. "Now you get some sleep, too, now that you have proof he's fine, just like I told you _and_ he's going to stay that way, because I took care of it. By the time we let him go, it'll be almost as if it never happened, except that it will be up to him to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Oh, believe me, I have plans," Sara replied adamantly. "Mom still has an entire file of recipes she used to make back when Dad's heart was damaged, and Cassie said she'd bring over some recommendations."

"So she's forgiven Franz for Ted going missing?"

"I think she's decided almost dying is more than enough punishment," Sara elaborated. "In any case, it's nice and quiet here. The weather has been beautiful, and the most exciting thing happening will be the Sheep Festival and walking Dad's dogs. Though he's talking about opening the pool up soon if it gets warm as fast as they're expecting this year." Sara hoped so. It would be great for her leg but now, also, for Franz.

"I'm glad you have plans, Sara, now _sleep_." Though Ethan sounded more amused than annoyed.

"All right, I'm going. Good night, Ethan."

"Good night, Sara."

Sara hung up the phone, then stood to head to bed. She was only a few steps towards the stairs when she heard movement above. Looking up, she saw her mother looking over the railing, wrapped in one of the silken house robes that had been a gift from her father.

"How's Franz?" Winry asked softly.

"Recovering," Sara replied. She continued moving up the stairs. "At least he's finally admitted he needs to relax more now."

"I remember a time when you weren't very good at relaxing either," her mother replied softly, her tone full of fondness.

Sara reached her at the top of the stairs. "I appreciate it more now. I'll be better when he's here but for now… at least I think I'll be able to sleep. Did the phone wake you?"

"No." Her mother shook her head. "I was reading. Your father, however, has been out for hours. I think he's competing to see whether he or the dogs will snore louder tonight."

Sara couldn't help smiling. "You could always sleep in my room and I could go back down to the couch."

"Tempting as that offer is, I know where to poke him to make it stop when I want to sleep." Her mother gave her a brief hug, which Sara returned gratefully. "Get some rest, and tomorrow we'll work on getting everything ready for Franz's arrival."


	36. Chapter 36

**May 16, 1990**

It was amazing what a little alchemy could do, Ted thought as he drove the battered truck down a winding Drachman backroad. It had been almost too simple to sneak his way across the border, by simply avoiding Briggs itself, and timing his border run between the patrols, whose schedule he had purloined on his way out of town. Then it had simply been a matter of making his way to where he and Roy had abandoned the truck, pulling out one of their old disguises still left there, and then transmuting himself a better disguise and updating the truck to make it less recognizable. A little less rust, renewed metal, a different color of paint by pulling out a bit of pigment and using the rust to turn in a rather muted color of orangy-yellow all over. He had changed the license plate, and dyed his hair temporarily a light brown that was dark enough compared to his normal color that it threw off the look, without looking fake.

He still had the fake ID and the remaining Drachman money from their previous unofficial mission, and he'd been able to use it to top off the gas tank, pick up some provisions, and now he was making his way North. It would take days to get to the Marskaya estates this way, but he didn't dare get on a major highway. There were checkpoints now, he knew from intelligence reports. He even had an—illegal—copy of a map with all the reported known ones that Amestris had been able to get information on. So the windy backways it was. Still, it was his best hope of finding Anika, and rescuing her before she became another unnecessary casualty in this senseless war.

Part of Ted wished he dared go back to Petrayevka and just take out the entire new "government" from the top down. They didn't seem to be using alchemists, so maybe he had a chance. The other part of him knew such a mission would be suicidal, and his goal here was not, in fact, to save Drachma…. Just one very special member of its population, and her family, if he could. He had a feeling she might not leave without them. Still, he was prepared to talk her into it. Certainly her father and brothers would agree it was the best thing to do.

Wouldn't they?

 **May 17, 1990**

Coming home from the hospital turned out to be a quiet, surprisingly low-key affair, though Franz knew that was mostly because everyone _wanted_ it kept quiet. James had told him that Headquarters had managed to keep all reports limited by issuing an official statement confirming that he had experienced a spell of exhaustion and collapsed, but was expected to make a quick, full recovery.

His escort home consisted only of James, and Ethan who walked them as far as the car, out a quiet side door to avoid a couple of lingering hopeful, but inexperienced, reporters. It was at the end of a normal work day, so most people were busy going about getting themselves home and their families settled. Dinner was waiting when they got home, and it was just a quiet meal with James, Krista, and Aithne.

Franz did not say anything about the lack of fanfare until after Krista took Aithne upstairs to bed, and James was doing the dishes. "Here, I'll help."

His son shook his head, and actually pulled a dish out of his reach. "No you don't. Not tonight."

Franz scowled as James took the plate out from under his hands at the table. "I'm not an invalid."

"Actually, for right now, I've been told to treat you as one," James replied, and for the first time since the heart attack, Franz saw his son frown, not in concern, but anger.

"You're supposed to be relaxing, resting."

"I've been sleeping for most of the past three days," Franz pointed out, disgruntled.

"Which should tell you how tired your body is," James retorted. "If you're not ready to sleep, go take a shower, or watch television, or read a book. Call Mom. But do what the hell you're supposed to and don't argue for once, okay?"

"When do I argue?"

The look on his son's face said he probably didn't want an answer to that question. James shook his head. "Go relax, Dad. Everyone's been really worried about you."

"So I keep hearing," Franz grumbled as he pushed his chair back and stood up. "If that's the case, why is no one here?"

"To keep the excitement down," James answered. "Trisha and Roy will be by tomorrow to visit."

They really were treating him like a weak invalid. "Stop it."

James looked startled. "What?"

"Treating me like an old man."

"Dad, you are an old man."

The words hurt. It did not matter that, technically, they were true. To hear them come from his son's mouth, as a matter of course… Franz felt deflated. "I think I'll go take that shower." He turned, and left the dining room. Shower, and go to bed. If he slept, he wouldn't have to interact with anyone else tonight, and maybe in the morning they would stop treating him like he was made of glass.

* * *

"Are you sure he's asleep?" Sara asked James.

"I'm sure, Mom. I just checked on him," her son assured her calmly from the other side of the phone. "He took a shower and went straight to bed." James sighed. "I think I hurt his feelings."

"What do you do?"

"I called him old."

On another day, Sara might have laughed. "We _are_ old, James. Not as old as my parents, but from a medical standpoint, it's true. We don't bounce back from things as fast as we used to, and he's going to have to accept it." Disappointed as she was not to have gotten to talk to him since breakfast, Sara thought it was for the best that Franz was asleep, comfortably, in his own bed tonight. Ethan had assured her repeatedly that after the healing he had done, Franz was in no danger of an immediate relapse, but that they needed to go ahead and treat him as if he were until his body recovered from having been run into the ground for months, if he was going to recover enough to get back into a condition to keep it from potentially happening again.

A philosophy Sara certainly agreed with, though she understood her husband's frustration.

"I still feel bad," James admitted. "You should have seen the look on his face, Mom. It was like I'd broken some kind of illusion."

"You may have," Sara replied honestly. "A lot has changed in the past several years, and I don't think he realized just how much until I came home. With that, and having to deal with everything else that's going on… not being able to keep up with it all for the first time is probably quite a blow. As quiet and sensible as your father is, he's always been proud." A fact many people seemed to miss, because he was quiet about that too most of the time. "Give him time. I expect it's all exacerbated by the sudden coffee deprivation." Caffeine withdrawal was an unpleasant prospect under any circumstances.

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Do you know yet if you or Trisha will be coming with him on the train?" Sara asked.

"Actually, it won't be either of us," James informed her. "Alphonse and Elicia have decided to go back to Resembool for a while. Alphonse says he doesn't trust Grandpa with his cats," James snorted, "but I think they're just ready to rest, and they want to be there for the festival, and so this is a convenient time and they can be useful on the way, keeping an eye on Dad. I mean, no one's going to mess with him with Alphonse there, and it will be low-key that way, without taking Trisha and I away from work."  
Sara hadn't heard anything about them coming home, but it sounded like a very recent decision. "That sounds like a very reasonable solution. Does that mean things are going well with Charlie's recovery?"

"I think so. Elicia said that between Alyse and Shelby's Mom, they seem to have all the babysitting they could possibly need, and extra house help now that Charlie's healing, and they can always come back if they're needed after his auto-mail surgery."

All true points. Sara nodded. "I'm sure they'd like a little peace and quiet. Not that there seems to be much here either," she added with a soft chuckle, thinking of all of her grand-nephews and nieces running around, or the four cats and the two large dogs in the house.

"I wish we were coming, but I think Dad will be more relaxed if he knows some of us are still here to send him news and keep an eye on things. Which, of course means we will only send the absolute necessary minimum of news to keep him from being too stressed out about not getting any."

Sara smiled. "Don't worry. I have plans to keep him distracted."

"Even at my age, I'm not sure I want to know."

"Smart ass."

James chuckled. "And I got it all from you, Mom."

 **May 19, 1922**

The roadside diner was surprisingly crowded for a place that was supposed to be the back-end of nowhere, Ted thought as he sipped the cup black tea he had ordered and the very stereotypical Drachman breakfast of thick-sliced rye bread, sliced sausage, and scrambled eggs. Then again, given the conversations he was carefully pretending to be ignoring, maybe he shouldn't be.

These small mountain towns seemed to have become a haven for anyone resisting the new regime. They couldn't rightly be called a Resistance Movement, at least not yet, given there didn't seem to be a lot of organization between groups, but there was a lot of sympathy for the exiled government in Karmatsk, which continued its pleas for a peaceful alternative to the military state Savahin now commanded. His call to think of the people—the innocent civilians, the children, the good Drachmans who just wanted to go on with their lives without a constant state of fear—was very appealing and garnered a lot of support from the people whose lives had generally changed very little during most political upheaval in Drachma. At least, the ones who hadn't gotten sucked into wars. This new government, the one killing people to gain order, was a throwback to far more brutal days that only the old grandfolks remembered from their own childhoods. No one wanted that.

Which was why this place was the perfect spot to listen for information about what was going on as a whole, and specific pockets of resistance. Ted hoped, desperately, that he would get a better idea of exactly where he might find the Marskayas, now that their property had been overrun and partially destroyed. Ted had come in late the afternoon before, and discovered over dinner that the radio in here played _unapproved_ stations after hours, with someone keeping watch for any local constabulary who might feel obligated to follow the new laws.

Last night, word was that there had been a skirmish in the forests, near the town closest to the Marskaya estates. This morning, he was listening for more specifics, and maybe landmarks or roads that he could use to find them.

Also he hoped to find out who was alive, and who was there. If he had been her father, Ted would have sent his daughter somewhere far away and safe. At least, if she was someone like his little sister. Anika reminded him more of the stories he heard about Riza Hawkeye in her younger days, and Ted could not imagine that formidable woman being sent away from the action when her family was in danger.

Which meant she was likely up in those mountains somewhere, if he could just get some kind of idea of where he needed to start looking.

The men and women in the café this morning were mostly ignoring him. Ted had established a story earlier of having had a bad encounter with a member of Savahin's troops over a disagreement over a local girl—Ted, going by the name on his fake ID, had defended his sister's honor, and the soldier had not been pleased at having his attempts thwarted. So, now he was just looking for a place to lie low for a while—a hundred or more miles away. He had heavily implied, without stating outright, that he was interested in the resistance movement. At which point, he was generally accepted.

Ted was just glad his story, and his accent, was standing up to muster. The time he had spent in Drachma a few months ago had taught him a lot, and he had continued to study the language once he got home, so he could understand the broadcasts that came across without translation. He wasn't fluent, but he was far better than he had been, and basic conversations were fine. He understood far more than he could say, but as long as he didn't get into any deep philosophical debates he should be all right.  
Ted was rewarded for his patience when two middle-aged men sauntered into the diner a little after nine in the morning, looking tired, travel-worn, and weary, but not overly paranoid. What Ted caught a whiff off as they sat down next to him at the mostly full counter was definitely just a hint of gun smoke.

The girl behind the counter took their orders, and then left them be.

Left to themselves, they started talking cautiously, and in very general terms, about how the hunting season this year seemed leaner than usual.

Then the third man on the other side of them politely disagreed, insisting it had been _better_ than usual, as he had brought down three large turkeys last night with particularly beautiful plumage.

At which point the conversation turned into a discussion about ranges, the best places to set up a turkey blind, and how to avoid running into wolves or bear.

Ted might have ignored the conversation except for the pattern of it. Oh, they were good all right, but when he just sat there and let the words wash over him, he started to realize there were patterns, repeated phrases, and it was, in its own way, a very carefully designed code.

A very clever one.

It did not take long for him to figure out that the blinds—which were apparently for turkey or deer, depending on the season—were resistance outposts, and the various animal sightings designated different types of troops. Not that he could identify which were what, except that the more dangerous the animal, presumably the more problematic the soldiers, either in number or in level of weaponry.

Other words seemed to indicate individual people, code names. He felt his heart skip a bit when one of the commented about the fact that from a particular spot, he had a _very clear view of the sky._

Sky… Marskaya?

:More tea?: the girl behind the counter offered.

Ted managed not to look guilty as he smiled up at her pretty face, her dark brown hair pulled back in a straight tail. :Yes, please,: he replied casually, while mentally cursing at the fact he had missed hearing exactly which blind the men were talking about. He was absolutely certain they were talking in code, and they were involved in resisting the new government, but he couldn't just straight up _ask_ them where to find General Marskaya.

Or could he?

Ted timed his moment carefully, waiting for her to return with his tea, then refill the cups of all three men, creating a natural break in the conversation. As she walked away, he caught the eye of the one farthest from him, since the man was looking his direction, and smiled disarmingly. :Excuse me, gentlemen. I'm new to the area, and I couldn't help but overhear just a bit about the hunting in the area you were talking about. I'm a bit of a hunter myself. I don't suppose you'd mind showing me a good area to set up.

One you aren't using of course, if there is such a place. I don't expect locals to share the best spots of course.:

The three of them were staring through most of his speech, but they seemed to settle a bit when he got to the last part. If only slightly. Not that he blamed them for being wary, given their discussion had really been about something else.

:Well, sure,: the one closest to him replied in a tone that was friendly and cooperative. :In fact, I've got a map out in my truck. When we've finished eating, how about I show you a couple of spots. They're a bit remote, but that means no one's likely to want to use them this early in the season.:

Maybe they were just taking him for a new guy, and hadn't picked up on the more subtle hint. Well, that was fine. Ted would continue to play along. Once they were somewhere more private, maybe he could pull out the story about the sister again. He didn't think any of these three had been at the diner the night before. Even if they had changed clothes, he'd have recognized their overcoats. May in Drachma was warmer than winter had been, but there was still frost on the ground, and the high peaks were permanently covered in snow. Nights were cold, and the days were something he might almost call warm.

So Ted nodded as if that was really all he had in mind, and agreed, asking carefully placed questions about the best game this time of year in the area, and their own preferences on ammunition and weapons. There, he could keep his own in a conversation, and by the time they finished eating he was sure they at least had some inkling he knew what he was doing with a weapon.

When they were done, they stood and motioned for him to follow them outside with a verbal invitation to take a look at that map.

Ted followed them out and around the side of the building towards a large blue truck.

He was barely out of sight of the door when the largest of them spun around, and Ted had a split second to decide how to react—

-he let the guy pin him against the wall with his hands gripping the collar of Ted's jacket. :All right, boy. Who are you spying for?:

Spy… Ted refrained from laughing. Instead, he put on a much more concerned and sincere expression and stammered…:Spy? I'm not a spy!:

:We're not buying it,: the middle guy, the oldest who had been sitting farthest down, replied. :So you might as well tell us who sent you.:

:No one sent me,: Ted replied honestly. :I'm not here working for anyone but myself!:

:Then you're either a damned fool, or a half-way decent liar,: the third retorted.

Ted swallowed, but managed a weak grin. :Might be both, to be honest.:

That got a snort from the man with his fists in his throat, and a look from the other two as they shared a glance at each other.

He was going to have to come clean…or at least give them enough of a story that they'd believe him. Ted did not attempt to struggle. :Look, I'll tell you what I told everybody who was in that diner last night. They'll tell you… I'm up this way hiding from a few of Savahin's men. Oh, I'm not anyone important!: he added quickly. :Just a disagreement we had. He took a liking to my sister. She didn't take a liking to him, and I made him respect her…if you get my drift.:

:Oh we already heard that story,: the old man replied. :No one shows up around here we don't hear about. If you aren't a spy, you're still not one of us. No one's come up this way in weeks. So spill your guts before we do.:

Well that was a visceral image. Ted sighed. :Look, I'm really not here on anyone else's orders. I was in the military, and then I heard about them blowing up the Marskaya estate. My girl's been living there…working… and I haven't heard a thing since it happened. I'm just trying to find her, talk her into coming with me, get far away from all this.:

The truth, without a name, but the absolute truth.

That, it seemed, these guys were good enough to tell, because after several seconds of silent consultation where Ted could almost think they were reaching each other's minds, he could suddenly breathe.

And his feet were back on the ground.

:Let's say we believe you,: the old man said, not sounding much as if he did. :There's no way you're getting on that estate and off again in one piece, and not a person here is foolish enough to help you try. You'd be best off just going back where you came from.:

:I can't. Not without knowing what's happened to her.: Ted shook his head. :Is there, someone I can ask? Anyone around who wasn't on the estate when it happened who might at least be able to tell me if she's still there, or still alive?:

Another exchange of glances.

Then a nod. This one from the old man again, who was clearly the ranking man in the group. :There's a place we can take you to ask some folks who might know. But I won't give you directions. You come with us, and if you prove to be false, you'll have a bullet in the back of your skull so fast you'll be dead before you can blink.:

Well, that was reassuring. At least it wouldn't be a long, lingering death? Well, he couldn't really back out now. Not when they were taking him exactly where he wanted to go. :Sounds like a fair deal. When do we leave?:


	37. Chapter 37

**May 21, 1990**

Edward drove with Sara to the train station to pick up Franz, Alphonse, and Elicia. They didn't talk much. His daughter was wound tightly, and clearly wrapped up in thoughts they had discussed enough for the past few days that they did not need to be rehashed. She would not relax until she saw Franz for herself; a sentiment Ed completely understood. He had never been calm when Winry was in danger or injured either.

They arrived only a few minutes before the train, and stood waiting on the platform. Sara hadn't bothered to bring crutches, since she wouldn't be doing much walking and had mostly given up using them, or the wheelchair, almost entirely. As they stood on the platform, he watched her, noting little changes in her demeanor. Where Sara had always been energetic, like him, her energy now was entirely inward focused. She stood, sharply alert, eyes on the tracks, almost vibrating with anticipation, but instead of bouncing lightly on her feet, as she might have done years ago, she stood stock still, more like a wild animal waiting to catch a scent.

The recognition of that scent was also visible, though it caused a very subtle change in her expression as they first heard, then saw, the motion of the train coming way down the tracks. The energy built up in her, until the train pulled in, and the doors opened, and Franz stepped down onto the platform. Then it released all at once and she was in his arms, embracing him tightly.

"I see Franz hasn't been the only tense one."

Ed turned and smiled at his brother. "Not even close. He doesn't look too much the worse for wear."

Alphonse and Elicia were both smiling, which told Ed what he needed to know; that it had been an uneventful and uncomplicated trip. "He's fine," Al confirmed a moment later. "Ethan assured us of that, and he seems to finally believe it himself."

"I hope so." Ed turned a little, and saw that the two were still locked in a tight hug, talking quietly. It had taken him a long time to stop being paranoid about his heart. Of course, given he'd caused his first heart-attack, and really the second one by over-extending himself, perhaps that had been self-preservation at the time, but Ed had never been the same after that. Not until the extensive treatment he had undergone in Xing to repair the problem. Even then, it had taken time. Franz was fortunate that, for now, there was no lasting damage. Not if he took the proper steps to take care of himself.

"Should we wait for them at the car?" Elicia suggested.

Al nodded and he and Elicia moved towards the entrance.

Ed followed, but not without a glance over his shoulder and a short shout of, "hey, you two!"

He didn't look to see their reactions, but they were at the car by the time he had Alphonse and Elicia's bags in the trunk. He did the same with Franz' suitcase, and then he and Al sat in the front, and he drove them all back to the house, making small talk about the trip most of the way with his brother. It was nice to have Al home again. Maybe, this time, they could both stick around for a while.

* * *

Franz had not been entirely certain the reception he would get in Resembool even though, logically, he knew Sara would be relieved to see him still breathing and in one piece for herself. She had been incredibly together about things, and just more so as she healed and returned slowly to Amestrian life. Even in dealing with the nightmares, the physical therapy, the hospital visits… she got over her insecurities, trusted that things would turn out all right, and was somehow even more indomitable than before.

Somehow that made him a little unsure of how she would react. He _had_ been surprised by the vehemence of her anger in response to this particular situation. Or, he thought, his not being entirely forthright about things to keep her from worrying. He had _thought_ that worrying was unnecessary.

He did not like being wrong.

Sara's hug when he got off the train was fierce and tight, and she had kissed him, and told him she missed him, and said she was glad to see him, and asked if he was all right. He had told her yes, he was fine, and that he had missed her too. That had been the extent of the depth of the conversation. On the drive home, and the waiting meal, they said surprisingly little to each other. Franz didn't think anyone else noticed. Edward and Alphonse were deep in eager conversation from the time they hit the car to well after, and Elicia and Winry spent most of it catching up on their own areas of interest and family inquiries. To these conversations, Sara seemed incline to listen, and voice her own ideas and thoughts in, tracking both with apparent ease. Franz mostly listened.

Afterwards, he and Sara went upstairs, leaving the other four still talking. Franz wanted to put his things away, and change out of his travel clothes into something more relaxed. Then, he hoped, they could talk…and dispel some of the tension he felt between them.

He entered the bedroom first, and had barely set his suitcase down on the bed to open it when he felt Sara's arms close around him tightly from behind, her body pressed tightly against his back to manage it. It was a strange hug; one that seemed both possessive and a little too fierce. "I do need to breathe," he finally said when he thought his ribs might crack.

"I'm glad you've realized that."

No, she was angry. Franz could hear it in her voice, even when the tone sounded more relieved than anything else. He sighed, not fighting the embrace. "Look… I'm sorry, Belle. The last thing I wanted to do was scare you like this."

"I would have thought the last thing you would have wanted to do was die…especially now that we've been reunited." Her tone was deceptively quiet, given the iron tightness of her grasp.

Franz wished he could read her expression. "It didn't occur to me I was in any imminent danger of demise," he admitted. He wanted to say that if he had known, he would have told her…but somehow the words wouldn't come out.

"You promised to be honest with me, Franz. You agreed that we needed to move forward together, and rely on each other equally… like we always have."

He looked down at the bed in front of him. "I know… and I meant to."

"Yet you lied to me. In all the years I've known you, I don't think I've ever heard you lie to anyone before."

He wasn't sure if she was guilting him on purpose, but it was very effective. "I can't even tell you why I did," he admitted, trying to formulate very conflicting emotions into words. "I didn't want you to be upset, or stressed about me. You have enough on your plate. And then…well, maybe I just didn't want to admit it." His son's words the other night came back to him. _You are old, Dad._ "I want things to be the way they were between us, and I don't know how to make that happen. So much happened to you, and yet you're still so very much _you._ I felt guilty for falling for their trick, for thinking you were dead, for trying to move on…even for failing to move on, and then there was that damned report, and all the old wounds were ripped right open again… and I couldn't believe what they were saying, but I couldn't dismiss it. Even on the tiniest chance it might be you I…I did the most un-professional thing I've ever done in my life, to have the only thing that still haunted my dreams…. Being back together with the woman I love more than anything. But…I'm not the same man I was eight years ago. Losing you… killed part of me…in a way that even having you back in my life can't repair, or undo."

As he talked, he felt her grip loosen, and he turned so he could see her face, and look into those brilliant blue eyes. He gently rested his hands on her upper arms. "All I feel these days is anxiety…and fear, fear of losing you again…and how that would feel. Fear of not being able to connect the way we did…or even in new ways…of drifting apart. Fear… just…everywhere. I am so _incredibly_ grateful to have you back, and yet all I feel inside sometimes is this lurking dread, like I'm waiting for the crushing avalanche that steals it all away again."

Sara squeezed him again. "I wish you had told me."

"I should have," he acknowledged, hugging her back. "I didn't realize how much I had gotten used to keeping all of my feelings to myself without you, that it was hard to open up again…even though I'd been talking to you in my head for years."

She looked up at him. "You did?"

He nodded, feeling a bit foolish. "When you…well, when I thought you were dead, I used to talk to you all the time. Just because if you'd been there, I would have told you what I was thinking, what I was feeling, things about the day. The you in my head…and the real you, diverged during that time. I still love you, _this_ current you, just as much as ever, but I… I'm just not always sure what to do, or say anymore."

"Well, this is a much better start," Sara replied. "I don't want drama, Franz, but I don't want us to be soft-shoeing around each other. You've been nothing but supportive and wonderful and patient with me, but I _need_ this to still be an equal partnership, a team…no secrets, even if our feelings get hurt because we're honest. I _tried_ not to worry about you, because you said you were fine, but it was very clear that you were _not_ completely fine; at least, not emotionally. Now, believe me when I tell you that you haven't changed nearly as much as you think you have."

Franz started at that. "I haven't?"

She smiled at him for the first time since they left the train station. "Not if I can still read you as well as I do, and anticipate what you need from me, or if you're in a cuddle mood, or a sit by yourself and brood in the middle of the night mood." Her expression became more pensive. "No, neither one of us is the same as we were. We're older, and we've both suffered through pain, and our share of fighting. Mine left me with more visible scars, a new fluency in Drachman, and a lingering taste for decent Drachman food. Yours is more subtle…but no less damaging. The cause is the same. The cure is _us._ It would have been a much longer, slower road for me without you. Now, you're going to deal with me taking care of you, with or without your consent." There was a glint in her eyes that he had long ago learned not to argue with.

He nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

She gave him a slightly disbelieving look. "You're taking this awfully well."

"Your brother has already reamed me out on your behalf, more than once," Franz admitted, "And I've had a lot of time to think for the past several days, since that is about all anyone has let me do."

"So James assured me." Sara looked at least a little sympathetic now. "He and Trisha have been keeping me very well updated."

Something else he had not done much of, even though they had talked at least once a day every day until he got on the train. Franz nodded. "Please tell me the glass treatment is over."

"Oh, it's very over," Sara replied firmly. "From here out, you'll be doing active recovery and preventative measures to keep this from ever happening again. Which means, you and I are going to enjoy our little vacation in the countryside, and spend lots of time getting intimately reacquainted with each other emotionally…and physically." She straightened up, her hands sliding around his sides until they rested loosely on his sides.

He didn't ask what she meant. He knew that look, though it surprised him now. " _Can_ we?"

That got him a short laugh. "Of course, we can." She shoved him backwards slightly so the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. "My knee is doing great, and Ethan said you were absolutely cleared for more rigorous activity."

"Wait, you asked your _brother_ if we could have sex?"

"He _was_ a physician on your case," Sara pointed out, clearly amused. "In fact, both of your doctors seemed to think it might do you a world of good. Ethan said you are absolutely in no immediate danger from anything we might want to do…as long as I refrain from suggesting we, oh, run a marathon."

Franz couldn't remember when he had been fit enough to run a marathon; not since his own infantry days almost certainly, though before Sara's disappearance, he had still been able to manage several kilometers. "I would really appreciate it if we didn't try that."

"I think that _might_ be a bit ambitious," Sara agreed. "I think we should start with my first suggestion, don't you?"

Franz realized he was being particularly obtuse. Sara hadn't brought it up as a matter of fact, she was making an offer…because that was what she wanted, and she was hoping he did too. _I am really rusty if I miss being propositioned by my own wife._ "If you're up to it, then I am yours to do with as you wish."

Sara's expression lit up and she pulled him closer to her. "Oh, I am _very_ much up to it."

* * *

Winry waited until Sara and Franz had gone upstairs before she suggested that she, Edward, Alphonse, and Elicia take a nice walk with the dogs while the weather was lovely.

"We could head into town and look at the Festival set-up," she suggested as she put up the dishes from lunch.

"That sounds like a great idea,' Elicia agreed with enthusiasm. "I want to check out the competition for the quilt I've been working on. Even with all the travel, it's nearly finished."

"We _should_ make sure everything's going all right," Ed agreed, sounding not quite too casual as he stood. "What do you say, Al?"

"I'm up for a walk," Al agreed, though he looked bemused. "Should we ask Sara and Franz if they want to come?"

"No, we should not," Winry replied firmly, then smiled. "They need a little time to themselves, and I think they will feel freer to talk if they know none of us are here to overhear them."

"That makes sense," Al agreed without further question. "I'll get my shoes."

As they all collectively got walking shoes on, and Al and Elicia changed into their casual clothes, Winry watched as Ed put both of the dogs on their leashes. Often, it was unnecessary, but they were young, and the temptation of what food or other animals to chase that might be about, it was best to have them leashed at the Festival grounds.  
Edward gave her a knowing look as he finished, and handed her Wilhelm's leash, holding on to Jacob's himself. "Was this your idea, or Sara's?"

"Both actually," she admitted, reaching down to scratch Wilhelm behind the ears. "Sara had a few things she didn't want to wait to talk about, and I suggested that maybe we could arrange a little time with no one around so they could you know…work things out privately." She knew almost precisely what her daughter intended to do, but Ed did not need all the details. He'd probably figure it out on his own.

Her husband smiled. "We'll, we've done that often enough ourselves. I'm sure they'll get some productive communicating done while we're gone."

"I hope so," Winry said, before letting the conversation drop. She heard Alphonse and Elicia coming back out to join them, and down the stairs. "Ready to go?"

They both nodded, and out the door the four of them went together, with the two dogs who were eager, but behaving. The weather was beautiful, with warm sun, but a cool breeze, and just a few fluffy clouds in the sky, mirroring the equally snowy sheep below, ready for shearing.

It was incredible that even now, her childhood decades distant, some things about home never really changed. The best part though, was sharing it with her family.


	38. Chapter 38

**May 22** **nd** **, 1990**

Ted kept reassuring himself that if they wanted him dead, they'd already had several days and plenty of secluded places in which to do it, and the three Drachmans had not yet taken the opportunity.

During their time traveling together, Ted had not learned much about the three men, except that the oldest want by Dos, the largest went by Feo, and the middle one went by Kon. All of which could be one of three or four different Drachman first names. It was smart, Ted supposed, since it made them more difficult to track, and the names that they could be were all fairly common.

They had bypassed what remained of the Marskaya estate which was, as he saw from a mountain well away, clearly occupied. Now they were winding up yet another narrow, dangerous one-vehicle wide mountain road and Ted found himself desperately hoping that Kon was as good a driver as he claimed, because the last thing he wanted to do was go plummeting uselessly to his death off a Drachman mountain.

It was getting dark, and there was a light drizzle falling that Ted was convinced was half flurry, though it was hard to tell in the dusk. He was grateful that the truck had functional heat though. As much as he had gotten used to the Drachman cold, that didn't mean he wanted to feel his nose turning numb inside a vehicle.

Finally, they turned another invisible corner, and a wall loomed in front of them, signaling a dead end. Kon pulled to a stop. :We're here.:

Ted was about to ask where here was, when a figure stepped out into the night, aiming a rifle at the vehicle and shouted :Identification!: over the wind and the sound of the car motor.

In the front passenger seat, Dos rolled down the window and leaned out. :Every tiger has its own stripes,: he shouted back.

An odd passcode, but Ted supposed that obscure was better. What mattered was that the person outside bundled in the thick coat lowered the weapon. :Pull forward,: came the commend.

Lights still off, Kon once more drove forward, much more slowly this time, then turned sharply, and they were driving down a long, sloping cave floor. Ted tried to guess how far they were going. He estimated they had wound down and into the mountain at least a hundred yards before it widened out into a larger, flat-floored cave that nearly blinded him with brightness that came from what was truly only a handful of hanging gas lanterns. There were half a dozen other vehicles parked inside, lined up neatly along one wall. Another rough door, through which more light shown, stood open at the other end.

As they parked, and the three Drachmans climbed out first, they greeted the figure wrapped in the coat, then motioned to the truck. :Come out,: Dos grunted. :Your host would like to interrogate you in person.:

Well that was reassuring. Ted swallowed, prepared to put on his best and most charming self, and crawled out of the back seat of the truck. He had barely hit the ground and stood up in the light, when he heard a gasp.

:Ted?:

He blinked, and almost tripped. He had hoped to find Anika, but he had not expected her voice right here; to have found her so soon. :Anika?:

She tugged down her scarf, and he saw her shocked face clearly.

For a moment, Ted stood frozen, then realized if he did not do something, this could go wrong very quickly. :Thank goodness you're alive. I've been looking everywhere for you.:

He thought she blushed, but it could just be the cold, and the bad lighting. :I thought you went home after the mission.:

:I did but… I was worried about you.:

Now all three men were staring at both of them. It was Feo, this time, who found his voice first. :Wait a minute…the woman you've been looking for is _Anika?:_

Anika put up a hand. :Hold on now, Feodor. This is a friend of mine. We worked together. We can trust him.: There was a look in her eyes that Ted read as her hoping, very much, that that was still true. :Everyone come inside, and have something to eat. Dinner's over, but there's some left. The General should be back soon, but the night watch has already gone out.:

Then she turned and led them all through the door that turned out to be a natural cleft in the rock, but with a very cleverly rigged custom door that could close and block out the light.

To his amazement, Ted stood in what seemed to be a very functional room that was both kitchen and sitting area. The walls had even been whitewashed, so they reflected the lamplight better, even if they were stark and uneven rock in places. There was old furniture of quality far too good for a cave, and rugs thrown down on the floors. One corner, which had a hole that was clearly drafting air like a chimney, held a full kitchenette, though it seemed to have an old woodstove. Three other entrances went off this larger room, and Ted could only wonder how deep the warren ran.

:Welcome to the oldest, best kept secret in Drachman history,: Anika chuckled as she pulled off her hat and scarf, hanging them on a rack that had nearly a dozen hooks. Most of them were currently empty. :This hideout has been here for over three generations, a true testament to Drachman peace and prosperity,: the last was said with a wry twist.

:Isn't that the truth,: Dos sighed. :I remember hiding out up here when your father and I were lads.:

All three of the men kicked off their boots by the door, where there was no rugs, and Ted did the same, following suit as they motioned where to hang his jacket and hat.

Apparently, Anika speaking for him was enough to get him out of being executed, at least for now.

He turned around as Anika hung up her coat—

—and almost swallowed his tongue as he caught her in profile. Even with a thick, corded sweater on, she was noticeably pregnant.

For a moment, he could only stare, stunned, and then his mind started racing, mathematically trying to calculate exactly how long ago it had been since that last night he had seen her, before they broke her father out of prison. More than three months, closer to four but not quite exactly…. Fifteen weeks? Sixteen? That would be about right, wouldn't it? He knew all women carried different, but he had enough sisters-in-law that he was not entirely ignorant of some facts of gestation.

Anika caught his eyes for just a moment, then turned as if nothing were out of the ordinary, and ordered the four of them to sit while she ladled up bowls of what looked lot a hot beef-and-beet stew.

Ted wanted to object, but something in her manner said he shouldn't press his luck. So, he just thanked her like the rest of them, and dug in to what was placed in front of him. It was simple, without much spice, but it was cooked properly and hot, and that was all it needed to be in order to be delicious.

Dinner seemed to take a long time, and Ted said little, in the name of self-preservation. Finally, the three older men disappeared deeper into the warren of caves, through a door that led to a set of crudely carved steps.

:There are almost twenty rooms in here,: Anika informed him as he watched them go.

When the door closed, Ted turned to face her, all too aware of how close she was, and how alone he had felt, and how much his emotions were straining to bubble over with her in arms reach. Yet he didn't dare, quiet, assume that she wanted him. She hadn't thrown herself into his arms. But that could also have been the company. :It's impressive,: he admitted lamely, trying to figure out how to say everything that was in his heart, and in his head. :I've…thought about you every day.:

Anika nodded. :You have been impossible to forget as well.:

There, his Drachman failed him. "Anika I…I had no idea…" He gestured generally in her direction.

"That much is obvious from the look on your face," she replied, swapping into Amestrian with him.

Was that amusement? He wasn't sure. She was playing her own feelings very close. Or maybe she was just giving him time to say whatever he had come hundreds of miles to say. "I've been so worried about you," he went on, before someone else could come in and interrupt. He stepped closer to her. At least she did not back away. He closed the distance between them, until they stood about a person-width apart, just out of her personal space. "I've thought about you every day. You're all I could think about, worry about; damn I've missed you. When I heard they'd blown up your house and occupied the rest…I couldn't wait. I had to know if you were all right." He wanted to hold her, to hug her close, but he didn't dare. Instead, he settled on holding his arms out. The worst she could do was turn him down.

To his surprise, and relief, she stepped into the embrace, hugging him back. "I missed you, too." It was not a tight hug, not with her belly pressed between them.

It was a brief hug. As they parted, he couldn't help looking down a little, past her eyes, at the bump that now came from a stomach he remembered as flat and smooth. It was his…at least, he assumed it was. She wasn't the type to play games. If it was someone else's, she would have said so up front. This was what his _one_ sexual encounter had come to. Of course, it wasn't as if they'd been thinking about protection at the time…or much of anything besides each other in that moment. "Anika I…"

"If you apologize, I will shoot you in the privates."

That stopped him mid-word. "What?"

Anika finally smiled at his look of surprise and confusion. "Do not apologize. What we did was consensual—if ill-advised—and as I recall, I started it. You had no way to know, because I had no way to reach you, and you had no way to reach me. I'm just glad you came." She hugged him again, more warmly this time.

"I meant it when I said I love you," He hugged her then, and she hugged him back, relaxing into his embrace. "I was terrified I'd lost you."

"We only spent a few weeks together," she reminded him sensibly, though there was fondness in the words.

"And they were the most memorable of my life," he replied fervently. "I haven't been able to get you off my mind, and now I'm here, and we're together, and I have no intention of leaving you behind again."

Maybe it was too much a little too fast. She looked at him skeptically. "So…you're not upset?"

"About the baby, no," he shook his head. "I mean, I'm shocked, but I've spent a lot more time around small kids than you'd think." He shrugged, and smiled a little. "Between just three of my brothers they've got twelve kids, and seven of them belong to one brother." With his family history, and her being one of four, clearly he _should_ have thought about the potential consequences when she had expressed interest that night…but he hadn't. "And honestly, all I've wanted for the past couple of years was to find the right partner, and stop living life alone. So, maybe the timing isn't ideal…but I came to protect you because I love you. So now…I'll just have to protect you both. At least, if nothing else, Amestris will almost have to let you into the country."

Anika's smile faded. "Ted…I can't just _leave._ "

He didn't like that look, and he felt a sinking in his stomach. "What do you mean?"

"My family is helping fight a _war_ here." She gestured at the cavern around them. "Not just for us, but for all of Drachma. This is my home. Maybe, if things were different, if we weren't fighting for the entire future of, of _everything_ —"

He didn't like it, not one bit, but Ted understood. If Amestris had been falling apart, would he have come here to get away? "I get it," he assured her. "So, all I need to do to get you to marry me is end this war?"

She stared at him for several seconds, appearing to fish for words. :You are asking me to _marry_ you?: she dropped back into Drachman.

:Yes,: he replied. :I will stay here, and do everything I can to help your family fight this war, and end this mess. Even if you tell me _no,_ but I do not want to live the rest of my life without you in it. It would be a miserable, pale existence. I want to know everything about you; to share experiences, to cuddle up at night with you in my arms…. I know we haven't known each other very long, but you _get_ me in a way no one ever has. This connection it's so—incredible. So, I will stay here, as long as it takes to make sure your family is safe…and my family is safe, because no matter what happens from here on out, I don't want to miss out on life; not mine, not yours, and not this baby's. I want to be there, to watch him grow up, and play and show him all the great things about the world. I don't want him to grow up without his father around.: He just hoped Anika would be willing to let him.

She looked up at him for several seconds, as if pondering something. :You seem very convinced that my child is a boy.:

:Statistics are in favor in my family,: he admitted. :I would be quite happy no matter what, just please let me be with you both.:

:Won't that be a problem for a State Alchemist?:

:I…may have thrown my watch in the President's face and stormed out when he told me we couldn't send a rescue party for you. Safe to say, I'll probably be looking for another job when I get home anyway. So, I'm all yours.: He shrugged, and smiled sheepishly, even while his heart pounded desperately in his chest.

Anika nodded. :That's good, because then maybe my brothers will stop talking about castration and death.:

Shit. He hadn't even considered her brothers. :I take it they don't like me anymore.:

:Well, I haven't actually told them _you_ are the father,: Anika admitted. :They have their suspicions, but it's really none of their business who I'm intimate with and, since I didn't know if I'd ever see you again… telling them I was in love with an Amestrian alchemist did not seem like the wisest thing to start with.:

She loved him! His heart fluttered, and he felt lighter at her words, despite the implication that both Amestrian and alchemist were still marks against him. :I can see that.

So… what do we tell them?:

Now, Anika smiled that warm, slightly possessive smile he had seen only briefly, in a tiger's cage. :Now that you're here? That a dashing hero has come to help us win a war.:  
He liked the sound of that. :So, does that mean you accept?:

:It means that I am not turning you down.: Anika clarified, though she did not let go of him. :I do love you…but I do not know what this war will bring…and up until less than an hour ago, I was trying to figure out how I was going to fight this war and raise a child on my own, thinking you hundreds of miles and an international border out of reach. I didn't even know if you missed me. So… I want to, but I need to know that this will last, and that I would not be leaving a Drachma in ruins _if_ we left. Ask me again when I am certain I can answer with a clear head.:

He could not ask for more honesty than that. It was sensible…and not a no. :I understand, and I'll wait. Since I'm not going anywhere, I guess we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other better.: One thing was certain: he could not go home and leave her behind, not now… not knowing the danger in which he would be leaving her… leaving a child.

She relaxed a little in his arms, and only then did he realize how tense she had been. This insecurity, this reality, was what she had been dealing with for months. :Thank you for understanding.:

:Thank you for not shooting me on sight.:

Anika chuckled. :I usually let people explain themselves first.:

He liked her smile. He hadn't seen it often, given they had been working most of the time he'd known her. There wasn't much to smile about these days. :May I kiss you?:

:Oh, I think that might be all right.:

There was no better feeling in the world than that sweet, gentle kiss; warm with relief, and remembered passion. Never in all his attempts at relationships had something felt so real and so _right._

:So, are you going to introduce us?:

Ted froze, and he saw the same startled surprise on Anika's face, and the same _oops._ Breaking the kiss, they both looked towards the door.

General Marskaya, and two of Anika's brothers stood in the entrance. Ted thought it was the younger two. It was hard to tell since they were still in coats…and still staring at the two of them with a varying degree of expressions from disbelief to distrust to downright hostility.

It was the General who had spoken, but when he saw their faces, his own expression turned to one of surprise. :You… I know you.:

Ted nodded, letting go of Anika only as slowly as she let go of him. He would not be intimidated, or act like a caught teenager. :Yes, Sir,: he replied formally. :Ted Elric. I was assigned to the prison break mission…also the mission to destroy the Petrayevka air field.:

The General nodded, though it was clear that the last name had taken him off guard. :Both highly successful. That does not, however, explain what an Amestrian State Alchemist is doing in our classified family fortification?:

:Kos and his team brought him here,: Anika spoke up quickly.

:I see.:

Well, this was it. Ted steeled himself. :I've come to help,: he explained. :You could use someone with my skills, and I'm willing to bet you don't have someone already.: It was a calculated risk, but given the fact that there seemed to be very few alchemists in Drachma these days, and certainly not in the military, a combat trained alchemist with Ted's wide range of skills would be nearly impossible to find.

:Who do you think you are, barging in here and-:

The General cut off the angrier one of his sons with a simple raise of his hand. His piercing gaze never left Ted. :We should speak privately. Come with me. Kirill, Niki, eat dinner, then Kirill, it's your turn to stand watch.:

The angry brother, who it seemed was the youngest, Kirill, scowled furiously at Ted, then abruptly turned away. Niki shrugged and gave Ted a _glad I'm not you_ expression before taking off his coat on his way towards the food.

Ted followed General Marskaya through a door no one had yet opened since his arrival. As they entered, the General turned on a light, and a single lightbulb flickered on in the middle of the ceiling.

"You have electricity?" Ted was startled enough he blurted it out in Amestrian before he could think.

:We installed a generator thirty years ago.:

The room contained a table, walls covered in maps, and radio equipment that Ted assumed must have antennae somewhere outside this hunk of rock, because surely no signal would reach this far down, even on top of a mountain. There was a recording device hooked up to the radio as well, which Ted thought looked fascinating, but he did not ask. He stood, loosely at attention, waiting for orders.

"We will talk in Amestrian," the General surprised him. "Very few of my comrades speak your tongue fluently, and I would like this conversation to remain private." He motioned at the table, which was surrounded by folding chairs. "Take a seat."

"Yes, Sir." Ted took the nearest chair, which put him only a few feet from the general as he also sat down.

The General's keen expression was focused and thoughtful. "You are correct that I do not have someone with your skills among the men and women currently working for me. Alchemists have not advertised their skills in Drachma in a long time, given what some of them have done with their knowledge. It does not surprise me that it is not a pursuit many in Drachma would care to attempt, even if they have the ability. However, while I appreciate your offer, and I am even inclined to accept it, I need to know your motivations, and I need to know how this is going to affect things internationally. If I am correct you are _not_ here with permission or the backing of the Amestrian government."

"No, General, I'm not." He wasn't sure if that would be a good thing or not in this man's eyes, but he wasn't about to lie. "I am here as a private citizen. In fact, given how I left things with my superior officer, I probably won't have a commission waiting when I get back."

That got a raised eyebrow. "You risked your entire career just to come here."

Ted nodded again. "My conscience wouldn't let me do otherwise. Not after what I saw while we were here last time."

General Marskaya nodded. "While I would have hoped for more support, I understand why the Amestrian government is reluctant to reengage after the difficulty you had just in retrieving your own people. However, let's not try and pretend that the reason you are here is because you want to help us retake Petrayevka and oust Savahin from power."

"I meant the offer, Sir," Ted objected, worried that maybe he had not been believed.

"I know you did, and it's a very flexible change in your original plan, but given you had no way of knowing if we were alive, where we were, or what our situation was, you will not convince me that you came all the way here just to make that offer."

Ted nodded grudgingly. "You are correct, Sir."

"I usually am." At that, the General leaned back a little in his chair. "We both know the single and entire purpose behind your coming here is my daughter."

"Which is why I'm staying," Ted acknowledged. "I care about Anika…deeply. I came because I had to know if she was all right, when we heard there were survivors. I had _hoped_ I might be able to convince her to come back to Amestris, where she would be safe, but I respect her decision to stay and fight for her family and homeland. So, I'll stay." He did not say, _if you let me._ It was still possible the Drachmans could decide he was a liability, and kill him, but he did not think Marskaya was that kind of man.  
He was betting his life on it at this very moment.

"I do not doubt that you have strong feelings for Anika… nor she for you," the General replied with slow, deliberate phrasing, "Given the position in which I found you, and if I may be presumptuous to identify you as the most probable sire of my unborn grandchild."

That was a nice way of putting it. Ted nodded. "I have no reason to believe otherwise," he admitted. Anika had just told him she hadn't told her family who it was, but he was certain she would have told him if there wasn't an absolute certainty that it was his.

"I don't either." Marskaya shook his head just once. "Anika would not give me a name, but she told me it could only be one person. I did not inquire further when she made it clear that it was not my business." He looked mildly amused. "Now, at least, I know why she would not identify the man, and why she also defended your absence."  
Ted wished the man would get to the point. This conversation was making him nervous, even if it was starting to move in his favor. "Yes, Sir… a fact I very much appreciate."  
"Well, it will keep you alive." The General must have read the momentary flicker of fear that Ted thought he had hidden, because a moment later, his grim visage broke, and he cracked a smile. "I meant that in jest. Anika is a grown woman, and her personal life is not my business beyond a father's reasonable concern for his daughter's well-being. You have risked your life, and likely thrown away your livelihood, on even the possibility of reunion. In that, we share a common interest. I believe your honor and heart are in the right place, even if I think it a fool's move to resign his commission for it. I will accept your offer of assistance, presuming you will agree to follow my orders in the field, and in emergency situations." That last brooked no argument.

Ted knew better than to argue with a general; well, this general. "Yes, Sir."

"Well, at least you sound like one of my soldiers," Marskaya chuckled. "Perhaps some fresh observations and your unique skill set will give us some new perspective, and an advantage. At least until Savahin's men figure out we have an alchemist working with us."

"Which, if we do things properly, will take them quite a while to figure out." For the first time in the conversation, Ted grinned confidently. "In that, I am definitely my grandfather's descendent."

Now Marskaya was nodding. "Ted…Elric. Your first name is actually Edward, isn't it?"

Nothing got past this man. "That's correct, but it was too confusing to have two Edwards in the family, so a friend started calling me Ted. It's much easier than trying to live up to my grandfather's exploits."

"In my experience, you've already got a rather spectacular start." Marskaya stood, and crossed to a table on which sat a coffee pot. He poured two cups, and returned to the table, offering one to Ted. "I did not really get to thank you and—Roy, was it?—for saving my life. At the time, I did not realize precisely who you were."

"No reason you should have, Sir," Ted pointed out as he took the coffee. "I had to talk my superior officer into letting Roy and I go with Anika to Petrayevka. We were under orders not to get directly involved in the conflict."

"So, why did you?"

"Because I had already promised Anika…" Ted admitted, sipping the drink to hide a moment's embarrassment. "She was going to come after you no matter what and I couldn't leave her without back-up. Fortunately, Mustang and General Fischer agreed it was worth the risk, both for the prisoners, and a chance to damage the airfields."

"Mustang… another name with a long history." Marskaya nodded. "That explains quite a bit actually, particularly when I heard the full report about the destruction at the airfield." He paused a moment, long enough Ted almost wondered if he was hesitating. "Tell me, Ted. If we _could_ talk Anika into leaving, would they even let her over the border? Last I heard, it was closed to avoid provoking the rabid wolf in Petrayevka."

"I don't know," Ted replied candidly. "I do know that while the border is officially closed, that has not stopped people from trying to cross. I imagine some of them are in Amestris, even if they are being escorted through elsewhere. In Anika's case… well, I think the baby will be a key to the door if the border is still officially closed." With an Amestrian father, the baby would by right be a citizen of both, under the right circumstances.

"What was your plan before that?"

"It's possible to get across the border if you know Briggs' internal varying patrol patterns, or cross in one of the worst places. I'd spent the past few weeks patrolling that border. I know who they have and haven't kept across." Now was the time to be completely open, he suspected, if he wanted to earn Marskaya's trust. He didn't have to tell him those patterns. "Once we were in the country, at the worst we'd have to temporarily live elsewhere until the situation settles down, probably Creta. I've got family in Pylos."

"Sibling? Cousin?"

"Actually she's my second cousin." Ted took another sip. "Minxia Elric Thrakos." He smiled at the recognition lit up in Marskaya's eyes. "Though I suppose if they didn't take us in, her cousin in Xing would probably do it."

"Her cousin the Emperor." The man had caught on now. "Your family is abnormally well connected, and I say that coming from a family that dates back by name over a thousand years."

Ted nodded. "It's a big family."

"I am remembering." He looked keenly at Ted. "How many of you are there?"

Now that was an interesting question. "It depends on how you want to define us." Ted thought about it for a minute. "If you mean how many siblings do I have personally, there are six of us. I'm the youngest of five boys, and my parents adopted my sister after that. Total cousins in my generation, and second cousins because we all grew up mingling enough there's really not much of a difference, there are sixteen in my generation. Out of them, most of us have gotten married and started families, except a couple of my second cousins who are studying in Xing, my little sister, and… well, I'll have to take myself off that list, won't I?"

"Yes." It was not a suggestion, not with that tone. Marskaya's head tilted ever so slightly, like a curious large cat. "How do you feel about that?"

An uncomfortable question with that gaze. "Well, in the half hour or so I've had to think about it, I think that while the timing could have been better, it is what it is, and my primary concern is making sure there's a safe world in which to raise him…or her, but my family is long on boys."

"As is mine." Marskaya sipped thoughtfully. "I meant more personally, given you clearly did not know about Anika's condition before you left Amestris."

"I've been ready to settle down and have a family for several years now," Ted admitted, knowing it was not what one might expect—or believe—from a soldier his age. "I've never been particularly adept at the dating scene."

"Care to elaborate on that?"

Not at all, but he supposed it was another step towards not getting stabbed. "The first girl I really had a crush on I got in a fight over with my cousin, only to find out years later he was the one she'd always preferred and really, they're pretty perfect together, so that's on me for trying to get in the way. The other one… she was another State alchemist, and I missed my shot because all the while she was trying to show interest in me, I was all wrapped up in the other girl. Then she lost an arm when we were in Xing in the same attack that cost us a member of our team. It was traumatic, and she didn't want anything to do with me after that. She went into research after her auto-mail surgery and recovery. Since then, well, there's never been anyone I really connected with. A few first dates, fewer second or third. It's hard enough finding someone who can accept the military lifestyle, let alone a State Alchemist, who gets sent on a wide variety of missions singly, or in small groups, or can be attached to a larger military unit. We're flexible, so we end up doing all sorts of things a regular soldier would be hard pressed to pull off." He shrugged. "That's it. Whole story. No actual ex-girlfriends, ex-wives, ex-lovers… or current of any of those either, except Anika, and I'll leave the precise definition there up to her."

"A sensible decision." The coffee was almost gone. "Anika's got her mother's fire, and my stubbornness. You can't make her do anything she doesn't want to, not without convincing her that the reasons are good…and frankly that's one of the things that makes me proudest. Now, I can't speak for the boys, but I intend to stay out of this for now. You and Anika need to sort out for yourselves what you want to do in the long term, whatever it is, and as long as you're both okay with the result, I'll keep my peace."

"Understood, Sir." He noticed that did not extend to if this ended with Anika in tears. Which was fine, since that was not something Ted intended to let happen. "And…thank you. I really had no idea what kind of reception to expect coming up here, other than hoping not to be shot on sight."

"Oh, you'll probably get shot at before this is over, but it won't be by us."

"Somehow, I almost find that reassuring."

* * *

Anika was reasonably certain her father would not kill Ted, though she wasn't entirely certain about the youngest of her three older brothers. Of all of them, he had weirdly been the most protective of her and upset when, a couple of months after their father's rescue and the subsequent reunion, she realized she was pregnant.

Leonid hadn't been pleased, but her oldest brother was generally the most level-headed, if also the keenest. Niki was more laid back about most things, and had simply accepted that if she didn't want to tell them who the father was, he shouldn't push the issue.

Kirill… well he had been shocked, and angry, and the one who flew off the handle and wanted to find the guy and punch him. Which was one of the reasons she had been adamant about not telling them. If he had found out that it was an Amestrian State Alchemist—regardless of the fact he had helped rescue their father—he might have gone apoplectic.

Like right now. While their father was talking with Ted, Niki and Kirill were eating their own late meal, as the earlier one had been interrupted by a transmission that had sent them out scouting.

Niki, who adjusted to circumstances quickly, seemed amused. Kirill was glowering, not at anything in particular, just everything. Including her.

:What were you thinking?: Kirill finally managed to grumbled at her.

Anika, who had leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to stretch her sore back, cocked her head to one side and gave him a warning look. :You don't want to have this conversation, Kir.:

:He's an Amestrian!:

:You know, I thought his accent sounded funny.:

:Anika!:

:No,: she cut him off before he could get a good tear going. :I don't bother you about _your_ girlfriends, you don't get to have a word on who I pursue a relationship with.:

:And is this a relationship?: Niki asked calmly.

A few short weeks working together holed up in a town under siege, a mad-cap escape plan that required sneaking daringly into Petrayevka, and into a high-security prison. The most romantic moment in all the time they had known each other—Ted's unexpected proposal several minutes ago excluded—a brief but passionate sexual encounter in a cage with a very confused tiger. None of it anything she would have believed would happen just a few weeks before it had all become a reality. Her world had been turned upside down, and in the middle of it had been Ted, with his crazy ideas that actually worked, and his indomitable attitude, and his big heart, who at no point had ever tried to imply she couldn't do something…only that there were some things no one should do without a partner. Then months of separation, of anxiety, of not knowing if he had gotten home, and then the realization that she was going to have to figure out motherhood in the middle of a civil war… and here was Ted, determined to protect her who, with barely a blink, had simply accepted his share of responsibility and thrown his entire lot in with hers. If he couldn't rescue her, he would rescue all of Drachma. It was crazy. _He_ was crazy.

And it made her more than a little crazy about him. That, she could not deny.

She wasn't ready to blindly throw her arms around him and accept a proposal, but that did not mean she hadn't been sorely tempted.

:Yes,: she replied to Niki's question, :It is. And I'd thank both of you not to make it even more complicated by causing trouble.:

:Oh I have no intention of causing anyone trouble,: Niki assured her with a grin. :You've got enough on your plate, 'Nika. That, and I don't fancy getting your rifle up my backside.:

:You bet you don't.: She looked at Kirill. :No giving him a hard time, Kirill. _Promise me._ :

Kirill's scowl did not fade. Instead he looked down at his food to avoid her stare. :I'll consider it.:

She would have demanded more, but at that moment Dos and Raziya came up from downstairs. From the look on Raziya's face, the older woman had already heard from the others that they had brought in someone interesting whom Anika knew. Raziya—known as Doctor Garin to most people—was her father's cousin, and the physician in the family. She had been a military medic before she retired, but was still more than ready and capable of patching people up.

The two of them didn't say anything, but they poured themselves cups of coffee and sat down on the couch to talk quietly.

Anika wasn't sure how long her father talked to Ted, but she was certain it was probably less time than it felt. Even now, she could only wonder if Ted was regretting what he was getting into, offering to stay and really get involved in this war.

She was relieved that neither of them were frowning or showed signs of any unpleasantness when they came back out of the 'strategy room' as her father referred to the space where they kept all elements of the business of running a resistance cell.

:Anika,: her father waved her over. :Give our new recruit a tour of the facility, will you?:

:Of course, Papa.: She turned to Ted and nodded towards the stairs. :Let's go this way.:

As much as she was dying to find out what they had discussed, it would be difficult to conduct a proper interrogation in public, so she did as she had been told first, showing Ted the layout of one of the best kept secrets in Drachma.

:There are actually three sets of caves like this one,: she explained as they wound down the stairs passed various openings. Some rooms had actual doors, if oddly shaped or fitted to the openings at times, many just had thick hanging curtains. :The other two are not nearby. One is on another part of this mountain, far on the other side, and the other is two mountains over. It takes nearly half a day to reach either one of them by vehicle. I don't recommend trying it on foot.:

:I'll take your word for it,: Ted replied.

:My brother Leonid is in charge of the second one. His wife and children are there,: she added. :The third is run by my Uncle Vonya, my father's younger brother. We can communicate using the radio system, and we recently ran the wiring for a television antennae up to the top of the mountain by the radio tower, so we can keep watch on what's actually going on outside of this rather lovely location.: The last was said with a wry twist to it. :So here's the layout, and most of them are pretty much the same, not that you are likely to see the others. The uppermost chamber is the public room, with any space for meetings and tracking intelligence and planning adjacent. Further down you'll find rooms like these,: she waved to the side as they passed one. :Most of them are sleeping chambers furnished with whatever we've gotten a hold of over the years. Some of it is real furniture from the estate, and some of it is from military campaigns, or civilian camping gear. Down at the very bottom, we have a cave that opens out on an underground spring. We use the spring for all our water needs, and a separate chamber that has a crack that runs who-knows-how-far in the earth that we use for facilities. We usually sleep two or three to a room when everyone's here, but rarely is everyone actually in, not even with three bases. So, lucky for you, you can probably have a space to yourself for now.: She stopped outside one of the rooms about halfway down, and pulled open the drape doorway, made up of a very fine, but very old, tapestry curtain that had been in style in Drachma at least sixty years ago. Inside were two beds. One was narrow, not more than a cot really, and very old, but wood. The other was larger, build more to modern expectations, and had an old mattress. :It's a bit lumpy, but I'd take the bigger one if I were you.:

She waited to see his response, but he nodded. :Sounds like the smart move,: he agreed easily. :It's far more comfortable looking than the cots we slept on in Xing.:

He had mentioned Xing. Another civil war in which he had been involved in liberating a country. This might be old hat to him. :Glad we could accommodate.:

Ted turned to look at her, his expression concerned. :Anika, are you okay?:

She wanted to say of course she was, but the words stuck in her throat. :Why did Amestris help Xing but not us?: she found herself demanding of him. :Is it because the Emperor's sister married an Amestrian General's son? Is that it?:

Ted stopped, startled, then reached out and took her hands, gently pulling her into the room. The curtain fell shut between them, leaving them alone with nothing but the lantern she carried for light. Ted took it from her and set it on the table, then led her to sit down on the bed beside him. :No, that's not it at all. I mean, yes, Cousin Ren is a member of the Xingese royal family, and they've been friends with Grandpa and Great-Uncle Al for a long time, but that's not the only reason we're allies. We got involved with the uprising in Xing before it got this big, and because we had mutual enemies. You know about the Hashman Syndicate don't you? They're the ones who were working with Savahin's people, that whole movement, for decades. They gave them the plans for those airplanes Roy and I destroyed.:

Anika nodded. She had heard the name, though she had not been made aware of that specific connection between them. :I have.:

:Well, for several years they were targeting alchemists. They killed over a dozen of them, and kidnapped my Aunt Sara, the one we just rescued from Petrayevka…the one we thought was murdered. We found out they had set up a research base north of Xing, and were building missiles as well. So, there was a lot to that mission.:

Logical, and tactically sound. :What about Aerugo?: While that was before their lifetimes, she knew that Amestris had gone into Aerugo after their last big civil uprising to reestablish order.

Ted snorted. :Aerugo didn't have a large enough army to even be a threat to us, and they were divided too. The leaders there, the ones with whom we'd had alliances, also directly asked for our help.:

:So if we _asked_ Amestris for help, they might get involved?: It was a long shot, but something she had considered. Without a considerably larger military force, there was little hope of retaking the country.

Ted grimaced. :Honestly, I don't know what we could do. I wanted us to get involved, but you saw what happened even with the small force we sent in to try and retrieve people from Karmatsk. Drachma almost _destroyed_ Amestris twenty-seven years ago. More accurately, it almost successfully occupied and conquered Amestris. While we won the war, we took incredible losses. Even now, the army isn't as large as it was then. Our State Alchemist ranks aren't nearly what they were either. I mean, we have more officially, but far more are now in research and development than are actively involved in missions that might involve combat. Even then, you're talking about levels of magnitude based on specialty. My team, Roy, we're not typical anymore of what State Alchemists were used for, like back in my Grandfather's day. Dogs of the military, little more than weapons, ordered to kill anyone the government felt was getting in the way. That was something President Mustang put all of his efforts as the appointed leader of the military into _changing._ So there are still many of us who are as much military officers as we are alchemists, but it isn't nearly as many because Amestris is not the Amestris of Fuhrer Bradley's regime. Of all of us, Roy and I probably have the most effective skills for use in military situations, particularly unconventional warfare.:  
Anika had seen that much for herself. :Roy… his grandfather is the one who single-handedly destroyed the front line of Drachman troops in the Battle of the Inferno.:

Ted chuckled. :Is that what they call it?:

:What do you call it?: she asked curiously.

:The end of the war.:

:Oh.: She supposed that, even in victory, it must have been more of a relief after all that the old government had done. Drachma seemed to have a lot more _old governments_ than some other countries. :I guess I see now why your government doesn't want to get involved, even with the verbal support they've given Mihalov.:

:Yep, and that's even after my cousin Trisha turned him down.:

:What?: Was there anyone his family didn't know?

Ted grinned. :That's a long, very old, complicated story that ends up tying into current events. The short answer though, is that the same group that eventually became Savahin's backers, they tried to sabotage talks years back. My cousin, who's married to Roy actually, wasn't at the time. I hear Gavril Mihalov had a thing for her. In any case, they teamed up and got an entire cell of insurgents arrested.:

Anika shook her head. :You are full of stories. I met your cousin, briefly. She's the one who flew in to Karmatsk.:

:That's right. You've actually met a lot of my extended family, oddly enough. General Fisher, the Whitewater Alchemist… he's Great-Uncle Al's son-in-law.:

:Your military is starting to sound like our nobility,: Anika admitted. :Though ours could definitely use some new blood.:

:I think it's just gotten some,: Ted pointed out, his expression softening a little, as if he wasn't sure how she would take the comment.

Anika nodded, shifting on the bed. She hadn't lied when she said it was a little lumpy.

:Want a back rub?:

The change in topic caught her off guard. :Do I look like I need a back rub?:

:As a matter of fact, yes. You've been moving like your back is sore since I got here.: He grinned. :Besides, that's the one thing all of my sisters-in-law have complained about.:

Anything that made her hurt less was a welcome opportunity at this point. :Well… all my muscles are pretty tight. Do you know how to give a proper back rub?:

:I think I can handle it. Here, turn around and lie down on your side.:

What could it hurt? Anika followed the direction, laying down facing the rock wall. Moments later she felt his hands carefully on her back. They felt around for a moment, and then suddenly the knots under his hands hurt…and then they didn't. It was almost magical how he worked his way up and down her lower back and on up, finding and releasing spots of tension she hadn't realized were there, she had gotten so used to them. :Oh _wow…._ Ah!... ooooh that's… how are you doing that?:

:Talent.:

:I feel like I'm being spoiled.:

:You're living in a rock with minimal comforts, a war outside, and you're four months pregnant. You could stand to be pampered a little.:

:Everyone wants me to take it easy and hide away. I won't do that.:

:And I would never ask it of you,: Ted replied, his voice surprisingly close to her ear. She hadn't realized how much he had leaned over. :Think of it this way. You can't be your most effective as a marksman if you're tense.:

She liked that logic. Instead of responding, she just relaxed into his hands and let him work. It felt nice to have someone else take the burden of care for a few moments, even if his arrival had not in any major way changed her immediate situation. Not where the war was concerned, or safety. Still, he had come all this way just to be with her, and when she refused to go away with him, he had stayed. :Ted… if I had demanded to stay…and I wasn't pregnant…would that have changed your answer?:

:Not a bit,: he replied without hesitation. :I came here for _you,_ not because of a sense of guilt, or duty, but because I love you, and I hope that, when this is all over, we're all alive to enjoy it, and that we'll live a long, deeply satisfying life together.:

:In Amestris?:

:In where-ever we choose to be, together, when we know how this conflict ends.: His hands moved slowly further up her back, reaching her shoulders, and Anika gasped a little again, at the simultaneous pain and release from pain that followed. :If you still don't want to leave then…well, I'll just have to find work here.:  
Incredible. :I hope you still feel that way after you've been here a while.:

:I don't change my mind easily.: Ted sounded both reassuring and amused at once. :Just ask my family when you meet the rest of them. Even the extended family… I can't wait to introduce you to Roy's grandmother.:

:Why Roy's grandmother?:

:Are you kidding? The two of you are like twins, only you know, two generations and a country apart.: Ted chuckled softly. :With your shooting skills, don't tell me you've never heard of Riza Hawkeye?:

:President Roy Mustang's wife…the sniper? Of course I have. We are not ignorant in Drachma,: Anika snorted, though the idea that she might get to meet one of the strongest, most incredible women she'd ever heard of, was amazing. :I didn't realize she was still alive.:

:She is. I really hope I get to introduce you. I think you'd get along famously.: Ted stopped working up her back and down her shoulders, one hand coming to rest lightly on her side. :Anika…tell me, how are you, really?: His voice had dropped to a softer tone.

:I told you, I'm fine.:

:That's not a very detailed answer.: His hand moved down her ribcage. :You're even thinner than when we met.:

:That's because everything I eat is going right here.: Anika raised her arm enough for her free left hand to rest on her belly. She had been fortunate not to be nauseated over-much in the early months, but she had been starving. :We're all a little lean these days. I'm eating…oh heavens I think that's all I do sometimes.: They weren't short of rations, even if they weren't living in luxury. :Raziya, you saw her upstairs, she's our doctor. Trust me, she's an excellent nag too.:

:Good. How's the baby?:

Since he hadn't been here for any of the check-ups Anika had endured at the hands of Raziya, and the one earliest appointment she'd had with an actual obstetrician before the house was blown-up. :Growing well,: she answered simply. :Strong heart, and lately, I've started feeling what I think are movements. They don't feel like my digestive system anyway, and they're in the right spot.:

:Can they be felt from outside?:

:I'm not really sure,: Anika admitted. :It's hard to tell when I can feel it inside.: And she hadn't let anyone else touch her belly to find out. The whole area was sensitive.

:May I try?:

It took her a moment to answer, mostly because she had not expected him to ask. :Sure. Though I can't promise much: Still, when she lay down was when the baby seemed to be the most active, so why not?

She twitched slightly, his hand tickling the skin as it slid very carefully under her sweater, skin on skin for the best chance of feeling something.

Even after months apart, his touch made her want to roll over and kiss him. No one had warned her before—probably they had never thought about it—that being pregnant would make her more easily aroused. A fact that had frustrated her to no end since the nausea passed, but it had been controllable. With her last—and only—partner right there, the urge was almost overwhelming. She fought it down, relaxing as his hand stopped tickling her, now laying warm and full-spread across her stomach.  
They lay that way in silence for over a minute, before she felt the twitches begin, and a couple of soft pops that she thought were either kicks or punches. She had no way of knowing which, but she had to admit, the evidence of a small person growing inside of her, that there was a purpose to the stomach upset, the aches, not being able to lie on her stomach, and outgrowing every pair of pants she owned… there was a purpose, a goal.

Apparently it had a similar effect on Ted, whose hand twitched eagerly, though he said nothing.

:Ted?: She rolled up just enough to get a look at his face, and was struck by the quiet, tender expression of awe.

He was staring at his hand, not even visible under the bulk of her sweater, just an outline. :I felt that,: he finally said after a moment. :That's a hell of a kick.:

:It could be a punch,: Anika pointed out.

Ted shook his head. :Nah. I've got eleven nieces and nephews. I'd bet you that's a foot, even if it is a little early to be sure.: He caressed her stomach, his hand moving up and down a little more, and was rewarded by another flutter. :Incredible. And you…are gorgeous.: He leaned in a little more and kissed her neck.

:You, are crazy,: she retorted.

:About you,: he agreed willingly. :My brother, Art, told me once that with everyone one of his kids—he's got seven—his wife's hormones drove her crazy. Actually, what he said was if she hadn't already been pregnant, they'd probably have at least twice as many kids over again. So…am I hallucinating, or are you turned on right now? If I am completely misreading signals, please tell me.:

:No,: she admitted, :You're not wrong.:

:Do you want me to stop?: he asked. :I don't want to make you uncomfortable.:

That was the precise opposite of what her body was screaming for, but Anika didn't really think that was the best idea at the moment. Not, at the very least, until she was certain it was fine medically for her…specifically. That did not mean her body approved of her mind's decision. :No,: she answered, rolling over enough that she was on her back, looking up at him. :And yes… is there a middle option?:

:Well, I can keep massaging your back and shoulders,: Ted offered with a little shrug and a smile, :Or anywhere else you like.:


	39. Chapter 39

**May 24** **th** **, 1990**

Edward could not remember his first Spring Sheep Festival. He knew his parents had attended when he and Alphonse were infants, and his mother had taken them every year of their childhood before her death. It was odd, at times, to realize that he had been living _back_ in Resembool far longer since his retirement than he had as a child, and that after leaving with the intent of never returning, it felt very much like home. More now than the house in Central, where he and Winry had raised their children, and the earliest days of their grandchildren.

The morning was cool and overcast, threatening to spit rain at any time. Perhaps not the most auspicious beginning to a festival, but Ed knew at no point would it deter the people of Resembool from their fun. At least, not the farmers, which still made up a large majority of the population. Weather was just part of the life.

In the family tradition—and because the Festival was now popular enough more people drove in from further out and overflowed the parking fields—they walked down to the festival grounds. It was not a fast walk, as they kept to a speed that would not aggravate Sara's knee, and they drew little attention, three older couples walking down a country lane. No neighbors waved today, because they were already ahead of them on the road, or at the festival. For that matter, most of their family was probably there well ahead of them. Raina and the other schoolteachers had, as always, arranged performances from some of the school children as entertainment that was also educational, and Ed was certain Urey would be helping there. Yurian was performing a song with his class at some point today, and again later in the week, on the weekend. Someone would need to keep eyes, and maybe a hand, on Brynne who was almost three and into everything.

Almost all of Reichart and Deanna's children would be involved in that as well, and also helping show their grandparent's calves and sheep, since Deanna's family always entered quite a few animals in the competitions, and in the sale barns each year.

Aldon and Cassie would have been there at first light, like they had every day of set-up. No town had a Festival without the mayor and his wife up to their necks in work. Aldon had admitted not too long ago that he was thinking about not running for re-election, and retiring. He and Cassie certainly didn't need the money, and it was time to let someone else have the headaches. It wasn't as if they wouldn't still be very involved in the community.

So it was that Ed, Winry, Al, Elicia, Sara, and Franz arrived to the delightful chaos of the annual Spring Sheep Festival.

"What do you want to do first?" Ed asked his wife.

Winry smiled apologetically. "Actually, I need to get over to the farm equipment barn. I promised the entrants for the tractor pull I'd help them with last minute adjustments."

Of course she had. "Well, I won't stop you," Ed promised. "Just don't spend all day covered in great. I'd like to show you a good time at _some_ point."

"Oh I'll find you," Winry assured him as she kissed his cheek, then vanished into the crowd.

"And I need to check in my quilt display," Elicia said as she headed off in almost the opposite direction towards the crafts display building.

Al shrugged, looking amused.

Ed turned to Sara and Franz. "You abandoning us too?"

Sara looked sheepish as she shrugged, but not at all apologetic. "I wanted to go see the baby animals," she admitted. "So, we'll see you later, over by the food stalls around lunch time?"

"All right, all right. You go," Ed shooed Sara and Franz, and watched his daughter drag her husband off in yet a third direction. He turned to his brother. "Looks like it's just you and me. What do you want to do?"

Al shrugged, but he was grinning. "Well, I hear there's an arm wrestling competition this morning, and if we want any of Willa Graham's fried fruit pies, we better get them today, because you know they'll be gone before half way through the fair."

"You make an excellent point," Ed agreed. "So, pies and arm wrestling it is. It'll be fun putting a few kids in their place, like I do every year." Even without his auto-mail arm, he could still beat a large portion of the population, except the hard-laborers who had muscle to spare and were still in their prime. Even then he could give a good account of himself.

"You realize some of those guys you're calling kids are over sixty, right?" Al asked as they walked towards the long row of stalls selling food and drink, where there was already brisk business going.

"I'm aware," Ed acknowledged with a careless wave of one hand. "They'll never be older than me, so they're kids."

Al snorted. "By that logic, I'm a kid."

"You are a kid," Ed returned the banter. "My kid brother."

* * *

Franz was entirely aware that Sara's interest in adorable small animals, while genuine, was more an interest in spending some time just the two of them—in a sea of strangers—without the rest of her family around. Not that they were really a problem. In fact, they had done their best to give the two of them plenty of uninterrupted time to talk. Franz knew better than to think that was coincidental.

There had been a lot to talk about, and a lot to process. Slowly, he was working on letting go of the guilt, but it was hard, just as letting go and moving past all the years of grief, of being alone, of reinstated bachelorhood. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to be in sync with his wife, but it was difficult to realize that while they had not grown apart, they had become different people without any reference points along the way.

Yet every day, Sara proved that, despite the changes, at the core she was still entirely herself. This was not the end of a relationship, but a bumpy patch, as they readjusted to each other, and found a new comfortable norm.

Franz would do anything for her, and if that meant remembering how to enjoy life, than he would figure that out too. Not that he minded adorable farm animals.  
It was more fun though, to watch Sara. She looked—in his mind—particularly cute today. She had opted for a comfortable, tunic-style shirt in a vibrant purple, with embroidery at the cuffs and hem, jeans, comfortable walking shoes, and her hair was finally just long enough she could pull it up into a ponytail. With that, she looked even more as if nothing had ever separated them. Now, with her knee healing, she moved with the same confidence in her steps as well.

That confidence was definitely evident in other physical activities as well, as he had discovered on his first day here.

Franz watched her grinning, laughing, cradling all sorts of baby animals because, of course, where there are animals, there is a petting zoo. No one seemed to find it odd that an older woman wanted to get in and have her share of the fun as well, either. Eyes bright with joy, she held bunnies, and chicks, and bottle fed a calf, and was nibbled by lambs and goat kids. There were piglets, and ducklings, foals, and of course puppies and kittens.

The last ones were the most dangerous.

"Oh my goodness, look at these darlings," Sara cooed as she dangled a piece of yarn over the heads of several kittens and puppies, all of which were scrambling for it, but young enough that they were falling all over themselves and each other, none of them carrying if they fell on the heads and tails of their siblings, or the other species entirely.

"I can just imagine the look on James and Krista's faces if we brought him babies," Franz commented, but he couldn't stop smiling either.

"Can you imagine how they'd react if we brought home a lamb, or a foal?" Sara looked up at the horses, considering. "Not that we could keep a horse in the house."

"We do not need a horse," Franz replied firmly. "If you want to ride, ask Ian's wife if you can ride hers, I'm sure she'd let you. Or go out to the country club with Alyse."  
Sara sighed but nodded. "Sensible, and probably for the best. I wouldn't know the first thing about training one, and paying for a trainer is expensive." Her eyes turned back to the adorable puddle of mischief in front of them. "These on the other hand…"

Franz couldn't help it, he laughed. "You're serious."

"I am. Do you remember when we got Trisha her first puppy?"

"The two of you giving me puppy eyes yourselves, how could I forget?" They didn't need a pet. Not that Aithne wouldn't love an animal in the house, and so far as they could tell she didn't have any animal allergies, not when she played with Trisha and Roy's kitten, and with the dogs at Ethan's and elsewhere.

Sara was sitting cross-legged in the dirt, with kittens and puppies swarming all over her, as if they were the most beautiful gift in the world. " _Look_ at them, Franz. They're just little darlings; so innocent, and loving, ready to give their hearts away to anyone who will stroke their fur and fill their food dish."

It occurred to Franz, that aside from the animals living at her parents' house—several of whom were young, but none were small—it had been years since Sara had spent time cuddling baby animals. They had grandchildren, but those did, in fact, belong to their parents. "Do you want one?" he asked.

"Can we?" Wide-eyed she looked up at him, then down at the swarm of adorableness, and while she did not speak aloud, her face said _only one?  
_

He couldn't deny her anything, could he? Franz sighed, and resigned himself to the fact that he was still a soft-hearted push-over… who also loved cats and dogs. "Just don't break the bank on pet food," he said finally.

Sara's smile was so bright he might have offered her the world. "You'll have to help," she insisted.

"I just hope your parents don't mind having more temporary house guests," Franz pointed out as he knelt down to join her in the fuzzy fray.

"Oh, they won't mind. Dad will probably want to help train a puppy."

* * *

Winry stared down in wonderment at the basket of sleeping fur under the picnic table. It was a woven wicker pet carry-basket, but it was clearly full of more than one animal.

"What were you thinking?" she asked her daughter. This had clearly been Sara's doing.

Sara's smile was full of unabashed joy. "That there are too many adorable animals in the world."

"How many are in there?" Ed leaned down and sideways, his sandwich still in hand, to peer in.

Winry watched as at least one clearly puppy face yawned, then went right back to sleep. It was hard to tell colors in the shade.

"Four," Franz commented from across the table. He looked amused if slightly doubtful at what he had just allowed.

"Two puppies, and two kittens," Sara confirmed. "It was just so hard to choose, and this way, whether they like each other or not, they each have a sibling around, and when we go for walks or jogging, we can each take a dog."

"And when you sit around watching television or reading a book you each get a cat?" Ed asked, clearly amused. He straightened up and continued eating.

"When Aithne doesn't distract them," Sara smiled. "I actually asked James and Krista a few weeks ago about their thoughts on pets in the house, and they didn't mind, they just didn't feel like they had the time to take care of them. But I have plenty of time and, well, the house is pretty quiet when everyone else is off doing things. I like company, even if it primarily speaks back in wags and snuggles."

"I can't argue with that logic," Winry admitted, "And we do have four cats and two dogs at home, so I can't say you're any crazier than we are." She enjoyed the companionship of their animals, and was grateful that Ed had never wanted anything more complicated than dogs, and now cats. They did not need to start a farm to go along with their pool, flower gardens, herb garden, sparring area, and Xingese medication garden. "Do they have names yet?"

Sara shook her head before lifting a forkful of food. "Not yet. I need to get to know them a little better before we know what to call them."

"How did you ever narrow it down to four? There are dozens of them up in that barn."

"We're lucky it's only four," Franz quipped before taking a drink of lemonade.

"We sorted them out all right," Sara went on between bites of potato salad and green beans. "The pups are a mix of Amestrian Sheepdog and Cretan Spaniel, so they shouldn't be too big or hyperactive, but they'll be fun to train and spend time with, smart too. They were very sociable, and let us pick them up, roll them over, look at their teeth, mess with their paws, all the usual things. They look mostly like Sheepdogs, but there's some curl to the fur, and we don't know yet if their ears will stick up or flop over when they're grown, but the black one with the white splotch on his chest is a boy, and the red-and-white is a girl."

"The kittens are just as pliable, and don't mind being picked up and cuddled, turned over. I was actually thinking about just getting the one kitten, but I noticed she wouldn't leave one of her sisters, even when they were playing. She would stop and go back to her, and lick her. Farmer said they've been inseparable, so I couldn't split them up of course, so we have both girls, the cream tabby and the lilac tortoiseshell."

"Who knew prison could make you soft."

Winry jabbed Ed sharply in the ribs with an elbow, and he jumped.

Sara laughed. "It's fine, Mom."

Winry let it go. It was one of those like father like daughter moments, and she had to admit, she had desperately missed them.

* * *

Festival days were days when Cassie and Aldon always had something to do. It was, in Cassie's mind, one of the best parts about being involved in a community like Resembool, even before Aldon had decided to run for Mayor. From the time they had arrived in Resembool, she had enjoyed taking part in, and helping plan, the village festivals and other activities. It had been a way to connect with and get to know everyone, and to become part of the community. As Resembool grew, these festivals had become the glue of old and new traditions, holding everyone together and keeping the culture of the town down succeeding generations.

Now, she watched her grandchildren in the plays, with the animals, entering competitions. Her grown children, the ones still in town, organized activities, and cheered on their offspring. Despite her worries, Cassie couldn't keep a smile off her face watching Reichart and Deanna's brood scattered in all directions, their parents managing somehow to keep up with all of them in their varied interests. It reminded her of when all six of her children were still young.

Watching Urey helping Raina and the other teachers herd children back stage as they got ready to go on for their performance, which partially including just keeping Brynne out from under her mother's feet so she could more effectively herd the pre-schoolers dressed up in fluffy cotton-covered t-shirts and hats that made them effectively into sheep, for the little song they were about to sing about shearing wool.

The school had gotten big enough they now broke down the performances into different days. The youngest children performed in the first couple of days, with the older students, who did longer or more complex performances, on the weekends or in the evenings when there was a larger audience.

Only one of Cassie's grandchildren was in today's performance, and that was Reichart and Deanna's second-youngest, Dessa, who was currently lost in the sea of sheep.  
Rhianna, their eldest, would be performing in the high school's production over the weekend. Cassie tried not to think too hard about the fact her oldest grandchild was turning eighteen and graduating from high school. It still seemed like just yesterday Reichart and Deanna had been graduating, and both of her oldest sons were getting married, though it was almost twenty years ago.

It hadn't been too long after that when Aldon had made the decision to actually run for Mayor. Had it been so long? It was strange how much time could pass, and how it at times could seem incredibly brief, and sometimes a lifetime away. Particularly when four of her children no longer lived within easy visiting distance. Only Reichart and Urey were still in town, and that had not been Urey's original plan. Still, Cassie was glad he had chosen to stay, even if it meant changing his original career goals. That happened. Certainly Cassie hadn't known when she was nineteen where she would end up, except that she wanted to spend it with Aldon, and do something that left her feeling fulfilled. She had been able to keep up both her nursing experience and her artwork. Both passions that had been passed on, ironically, to the same child. All of her children had turned out incredibly individual, despite growing up in the same house. The auto-mail engineer, the nurse/artist, the pharmacist/alchemist, the actor, the State Alchemist, and the photographer.

The thought came with a painful pang, as she wondered where Ted really was now, and if he was safe. There had been no news at all since they theorized he had crossed the border back into Drachma, and ever since all she could try to imagine was whatever had possessed her son to throw his entire career in Franz's face and run back into a war zone.

No, that wasn't entirely true. She knew why… even if it left her fearing for his life. It was that woman… after years of unsuccessful relationships, Ted was convinced that he had found someone who loved him, and that he loved…truly. Cassie couldn't deny that she would probably have done something as foolish if it had been Aldon on the other side of that border, especially back when they were young and childless. Ted was already years older than she and Aldon had been. By the time they were his age, they'd already married and had multiple little boys under foot.

Ted was still single, and had been increasingly uncomfortable with that fact. She remembered how he'd looked at Ian's wedding, even though he did his best to smile and hide it. Even Callie had a steady boyfriend, even if they did not seem in any hurry to get married, and Ted had no one.

Of course he would risk his life for someone he loved. Which told her that, if nothing else, _Ted_ was convinced that she was worth the risk.

Cassie only wished she could agree. She didn't know enough to say one way or the other. She did however, know what she needed to say to someone else.  
After the performance, she filed out of the audience with the rest of her family, with only a moment for a brief kiss on the cheek from Aldon before he vanished for another mayorly duty. Then, she followed Ed, Winry, Al, Elicia, Sara, and Franz out of the crowded seating. "Franz," she spoke up, knowing there was never going to be a more private moment, "can I talk to you for a second?"

He paused, then nodded, said something to Sara, and joined her, nodding towards the quiet of a tree not too far away that didn't have anyone standing under it.

Once there, Cassie didn't wait. "Franz, I owe you an apology. I don't blame you for what happened with Ted. He's always been headstrong, and you can't dissuade him from anything once he gets an idea in his mind that he thinks needs to be an action. And…well I can't really say anyone in our family has ever been reasonable when it comes to romance so… I'm sorry. Really, I am, and when I found out you were in the hospital I…well I was afraid I wouldn't get to apologize to you in person. You were already under incredible stress and I'm sure I didn't help."

To her relief, Franz smiled, the same kind gentle smile he'd always used. "Thank you, Cassie. I accept the apology, but I don't want you to feel like this was in any way your fault. I _won't_ discount that Ted's antics might have been part of the catalyst, but as a nurse you know well and good most of this I did to myself. I should know my limits by now, but I seem to be almost as bad about it as the State Alchemists we know."

Cassie could only nod in agreement with that statement. "But you're all right? I mean, Winry told me you are, but I didn't want to pry."

"You're family. When you ask, it's not prying."

She was surprised by the warmth she felt at that statement, and relief. "Then tell me."

And he did, in brief summary, tell her what had happened, and what Ethan had been able to fix, and that he was perfectly fine as long as he took active steps to keep himself from getting to that point again.

"Good," she said when he finished. "Expect me to hold you to it."

That elicited a chuckle, and Franz hugged her briefly. "I'm counting on it." When he let go, the air between them was clear. "We'd better go find everyone, or Sara will end up adopting a goat next."

Cassie chuckled. She had seen the puppies and kittens earlier. "I thought Central had ordinances against livestock in city limits."

"It does, but I'm afraid they'd make an exception for the President's wife."


	40. Chapter 40

**May 27** **th** **, 1990**

The pain was less. Somehow, the searing agony of raw nerves, exposed then connected into the grip of metal, then connected _again_ to more metal, had finally ended. Or rather, it had become bearable, like a second-degree sunburn instead of the jaws of a steel trap trying to bite his arm off.

When had it ended? Charlie couldn't say. The world was fuzzy, swirling, soft cotton clouds and blue sky. Or maybe that was bedsheets and a hospital ceiling. The smell of disinfectant and linens made him disinclined to think it was sky.

 _Drugs…_ the word floated to the surface of his mind. He hurt less because the auto-mail surgery was over. He was in recovery, and they had finally been able to give him painkillers.

Of a sort. He could still feel… he didn't want to feel. He wanted to remain in oblivion until the hurting went away. It made his ghost hand hurt worse than ever…like it was actually gripping the sheet, tugging at it, when that wasn't possible….

Except it was.

Charlie opened his eyes fully, waiting as they slowly focused on the ceiling above his head. The light was off, but the dim light filtering through the curtains told him it was not night. He glanced down at the hand by his side… it _was_ clenching the sheets tightly even though he couldn't actually feel the fabric beneath metal fingers. It was weird, to know he was doing it, yet not feel it. His brain still said he was gripping sheets, because that was what it had told his hand to do.

His face was hot, and that unpleasant feeling of dry stickiness that came when tears dried on the skin but hadn't been washed away.

Tears.

The memories returned more clearly as his brain fog wisped away. The surgery had been incredibly painful; worse almost than the explosion that had nearly killed him, mutilating his hand in the process. Auto-mail surgery still did not involve strong painkillers. The nerves had to be active for various tests, to make sure the auto-mail was being put on properly and adjusted.

It was okay to cry, Gale Elric had told him before they started. Most people cried, even the biggest, toughest men.

Well, then Charlie was most men, because he had cried through the whole thing, even though he had still felt ashamed of it the whole time.

The hand was hurting… but he couldn't quite seem to get it to let go. He stared at it, thinking very hard about relaxing muscles until it did. That hurt too, enough to send a shock of pain up his arm, and he hissed.

"That's going to hurt for a while," Gale's voice came out of somewhere nearby. "If you can consciously work on _not_ moving it until the nerves heal up more, it will help. Then you'll be able to start your rehabilitation."

Charlie couldn't see her, but the voice seemed to be coming from the other side of the room. Then he heard a chair creak, and Gale stood, and he could see her as she came over to the bedside instead. "I'm trying, believe me," he croaked, his throat sounding hoarse and dry. "So, it went okay?"

She nodded, smiling pleasantly. "Very well. You did great, and everything connected beautifully. You've got a bit of a fever, but that's normal after connection, especially during an initial port surgery. There are no signs of infection so far, so it's most likely just the usual shock to the system. We were able to give you something for the pain a couple of hours ago. I know you can still feel your stump, but there's only so much we can do."

Hours. "How long have I been out?"

"You've been asleep for six hours, which is normal."

"Is my family here?" The last time he had seen anyone, Shelby had squeezed his good hand and kissed him briefly before he was wheeled into the operating room.

Gale nodded. "Your wife is in the waiting room."

Charlie didn't ask about the others. If she was here, that meant his parents were probably at home with the kids. "Can she come in?"

"Of course. I'll send her down." Gale left him alone, and it seemed like only seconds before he heard the door open again, and Shelby seemed to appear at his bedside out of nowhere, leaning over to give him the fiercest, yet most gentle of hugs. He caught a glimpse of the worry on her beautiful face before it evaporated with relief on seeing him for herself.

"I was so worried about you," she spoke softly beside his ear. "They said everything went fine, but… I could hear you down the hall."

Shit. "What did you hear?" he asked, feeling his stomach sink. No one had told him that the sound would carry past the surgical space.

"Screaming." She leaned back, releasing him enough that she could sit on the bed beside him. "Sometimes just cries but…. I think it was when they must have attached the port. It went on so long…it felt like forever. Then everything went dead silent and… well, none of that matters now, does it?" she seemed to shake herself, and put a small smile back on her face. "You've got a hand again and, in a couple of years, it'll be almost like you never lost it. You'll still be able to work, and do everything you could before."

She sounded so happy, as if two years of rehabilitation to be able to properly use his hand, with minimal discomfort, was nothing. Or, more likely, she just thought him strong enough to handle it.

Given how he felt at the moment, he wasn't feeling that confident, but he couldn't tell her that. He managed a tired half-smile. "Yeah, everything's going to be okay."

 **June 5** **th** **, 1990**

Only in the Drachman mountains could it snow in June, Ted complained to himself as he lay in the cold dirt, rocks, and nearly two inches of fresh snow, using binoculars to stare down the mountain at the road, twisting and turning its way until it eventually vanished out of sight. In the late afternoon fast-falling dark, it wouldn't be long before it was too dark to see that far.

Yet the scouting report they had gotten said Drachman military personnel were also scouting the area, still diligently trying to find any of the Marskaya family hidey-holes.

Never in history had they yet succeeded.

Though now they were not too far off, and it seemed that they had found the vague trail that eventually became the almost-road that had brought him up here a week ago.  
Was it only a week? It felt like longer. In that time, Ted had already been in one skirmish, spent hours that felt like days at his turn on radio tech duty, been on a scouting mission into the nearest town for supplies, and spend endless hours talking strategy with the General and listening to everything anyone would tell him about the current situation and how the resistance was doing.

That, and spending every free moment he could get alone with Anika. Which was far less than he would have liked, though he understood why and he didn't press. She came to him in the late evenings, when he wasn't assigned to some arm-pit duty proving himself to the team. He had been permitted to massage her again more than once. As tight as her muscles were each time, he knew she needed them, and didn't take the request as an overture for anything more than it was. Given it also gave him permission to put his hands on her, he wasn't about to object. They weren't sharing a bed, and he suspected it would be a while before that happened. Especially with her family around. Still, they were—despite the situation—not as well acquainted as they should be. So, massage time became _random trivia about each other_ time as well, even more than their mission together had been.

:Hey, Southerner,: a voice beside him grunted. :Are you going to tell us your plan, or were you blowing hot air in there after all?: Kirill—of course they'd send him with Kirill.  
Ted mentally cursed himself for being distracted for a moment. :Nope. I know exactly how I'm going to keep them from finding the road.:

:And just how is that?:

:I'm going to blow it up.:

:With what?:

:Alchemy, what else?: Ted put down the binoculars and flexed his hands, trying to warm them up. The knuckles popped loudly. He wasn't wearing transmutation gloves, because this wasn't his standard transmutation. Pulling out a piece of oiled pastel-because it was more waterproof than regular chalk-he sketched out the circle in a matter of seconds. Then he placed his hands down on it, aware that Kirill was staring at him like he was crazy.

:And what happens after you destroy the road, genius?: Kirill asked.

At that, Ted gave him his cockiest grin and shrugged casually. :I'll put it back together.: Then, without waiting for any more clever remarks, he began the transmutation.  
As things went, this was one of the cruder, faster ones his grandfather had taught him over the years. Or at least, it would look that way to anyone watching the ground rumble, then turn into a rockslide nearly a quarter mile below them, that bounced and slid and wiped out a good portion of road, before the rocks lodged themselves at the head of the pass. In reality, it took quite a bit of finesse to do something like that without bringing down half the mountain… or shaking their hideaway two hundred yards behind them, and deeply entrenched in the rock below. The last thing Ted wanted to do was toss anything around down there…especially Anika.

From his perspective, it was almost anticlimactic. That far below, he could only feel the earthquake through his alchemy, and they could barely hear it except where it echoed off the rocks below. It was too distant to be impressive.

At least to him. When Ted removed his hands and the glow stopped, it was almost full dark, but he could still see Kirill's face, and Anika's youngest brother looked as if he almost didn't quite believe that he had just seen someone say he was going to create an avalanche, and then do it without explosives. Not only that, he had placed it precisely where he said he would. :Well, that's it,: Ted replied with the same casualness from earlier, as if he did things like this every day. Which, of course, he pretty much did. :When we need to go out, I'll remove the rocks, but anyone looking for a road won't find one.:

Kirill frowned, and grunted, but didn't seem to have a quick retort for that. :We should get back and see if there's more news,: he replied.

Ted took a moment to wipe the circle off the slate with a handful of snow, then followed Kirill through the darkness, made more treacherous by the blowing snow. He stayed very carefully directly behind the other man to avoid miss-stepping and getting lost, or falling, in the darkness.

Ted took it as a general sign of not being completely despised that Kirill didn't simply lead him off the edge of a ledge and let him plummet to his death.

Or maybe Kirill just didn't want to upset his sister that much.

It was Niki's turn at kitchen duty, which meant that they arrived back into the warmth of the hideout to the smell of a large pot of beans seasoned in a way none of Ted's Aerugean friends would have ever considered acceptable, given they seemed to be slow-simmered in a red wine—or maybe vinegar, Ted suspected they wouldn't waste alcohol for beans—and a hint of sweet with a jar of plum jam, and a few dried herbs. Since they had a lot of preserved jam and dried beans in storage, they had already eaten the dish twice since Ted's arrival. He had a feeling he was either going to love it or hate it by the time this was all over.

For now, it was tasty, hot, and filling. Served with dense bread made from cornmeal, with onions and cheese, it made for a surprisingly good meal. Ted had already made a mental note on the recipes in case he wanted to make them later.

Not a place to wait on ceremony, anyone currently not assigned a duty was already eating. Some had already eaten, as evidenced by freshly washed dishes by the small sink.

Everyone did their own washing here.

Through an open door, Ted could see that someone was already back at the radios, scanning for signals, and that General Marskaya was in there with him.

Much to his disappointment, Anika was not currently at dinner, but he had just barely ladled up beans over his bread when the General came into the room with an expectant expression.

:Did it work?: he asked without preamble.

Ted nodded. :The road is closed, and it looks like a natural landslide blocked off the pass. No one's going to bother trying to get through it and there's no way to get over it with a vehicle even if they realize that's a road. When we need to get out, I'll move it. Now that it's down there, it'll be easier to make smaller changes to get us in and out.:

The General looked cautiously pleased. He turned to look at his youngest son. :Do you concur with this assessment?:

Kirill nodded, even though he looked displeased about it. :It's as he says,: he acknowledged with begrudging acceptance. :Took less than two minutes. Craziest thing I ever saw.:

:That is the benefit of having a skilled alchemist.: Marskaya nodded, then he smiled. :Savahin's men won't expect that, so it should put them off the trail. We don't need to go anywhere for a few days, so we'll lie low until they give up and go sniff up another mountain.: He turned to Ted, who had barely managed to get his backside onto a chair.

:Come with me.:

Ted almost burned himself as he swallowed the bite that was halfway into his mouth too hastily. :Yes, Sir.: He bounced right back up and followed—bringing his food along. He knew he wasn't in trouble, so he was more curious what the General wanted to discuss right now. They had spoken almost daily since his arrival, on a variety of subjects.

"We've gotten a report that concerns you," Marskaya commented as the door to the strategic planning room closed behind them.

"Me?" Ted dropped back into Amestrian when the General did. "By name?"

Marksaya shook his head. "No, not directly. You're not actually mentioned, but a member of your family is."

Now that was something. Ted felt a turn in his stomach. Judging from the General's expression it was not good news. "What happened?"

"This just came through while you were out." Marskaya handed him the transcribed message.

Ted set down his food on the edge of a table, and took the paper. It was a news report, carrying what claimed to be a confirmed report that President Heimler of Amestris had apparently collapsed at work and been rushed to the hospital, though he had not died. The cause had not been disclosed and the military was being very closed-mouthed about the whole thing.

Uncle Franz… Ted felt a moment's fear followed by a stronger surge of guilt. The last time he had seen his uncle, he had defied his orders, thrown his commission in his face… but his uncle wasn't young, and it was no secret inside the military itself that he worked himself down to strings on a regular basis. President of the Military was a tough job on a calm day, and there weren't many of those. With everyone going on lately, and Aunt Sara's sudden and amazing reappearance…

That was it. No further details or news on if he was out of the hospital. Ted refrained from crumpling the page, if only because it contained more information and was not his to destroy. "I didn't know," he said after a minute. "It was after I left Amestris. I never heard anything… but it says he's alive. Maybe it was just exhaustion." He wanted to believe that, but the fact that the military was saying little told him it was probably much more serious.

"You don't seem to believe that," Marskaya commented shrewdly.

There was no good in lying. "He changed… the day my aunt died. Or at least, the day we all _thought_ she died." Ted turned and handed the page back to the General. "Obsessed with wiping out the Hashman Syndicate, he was in charge of the campaign into Xing that took back the Imperial throne and helped restore the tentative peace they have now. The same campaign that wiped out the Syndicate's main base of operations and most of their war technology advancement. What they hadn't already sold to certain elements in Drachma, obviously." He dropped heavily into the nearest chair, suddenly feeling much, much older himself. "It was as if he did nothing but work, and even after the Syndicate was taken care of, he just never stopped. Without Aunt Sara around, it was like he was married _to_ his work, even more than most. But this… this civil war on our northern border, and the lack of stability, the madman in power who's already making intimations that he wants to expand again, might invade again when he's got Drachma subdued… and the shock of finding out Aunt Sara was actually a prisoner, tortured, interrogated…left to rot in Drachman prisons. It must have been really hard on him, knowing we'd all been tricked, and that she'd been alive all this time, without rescue. I mean, we were all shocked, happy, but it's the last thing you expect."

Marskaya nodded. He had taken the seat across from him, and seemed thoughtful. "I've never met Franz Heimler," he spoke contemplatively. "Though I've heard the name. I've read about the campaign in Xing, and I even heard the name after the war between our countries, attached to reports that he was the only survivor of the team that set off that incredible wall of fire that decimated our lines, and miles of border country in the process."

Ted nodded. He had no personal memories of that, but it had been taught in school and was one of many family stories. "He was one of the men guarding the Flame Alchemist," he confirmed. "He's one of the bravest men I've ever known, frankly. I mean, how many people charge in with alchemists where only alchemists are crazy enough to go?"

"Are you crazy; alchemists I mean?"

He knew the General was ribbing him now, but Ted answered anyway. "We have to be," he replied directly. "We have abilities no one else can use, and often can't match. Those of us trained as fighters, and not lab scientists, are the ones most likely to get sent into nearly impossible situations that would be fatal for any regular soldier. Sometimes they are for us, too. But that's what State Alchemists are for… making sure that the loss of life is minimized, while maximizing our chances of success. Ever since Roy Mustang became President of Amestris, the purpose of State Alchemists has not been to be Amestris' attack dogs, even though it probably still looks that way if you're on the other side. If there's a way to end something without killing, we're going to try it that way first. That's the mentality that's been trained into State Alchemists for over sixty years, and that's because that's what the Alchemists who were forced to slaughter people in Ishval, and all those border wars, never wanted to see happen again. My grandfather, and my great-uncle, revised the entire State Alchemist program to change the entire nature of how State Alchemists are used and, while we haven't had another Alchemist as President since then, everyone who has followed has kept to that ideal, more or less."

Ted wasn't even entirely sure why he was explaining this to the man, particularly since Marskaya had been part of that invading army, and had lost many men in those engagements. He heard the pride in his own voice, and felt like a hypocrite. And yet, he could not feel anything but familial pride for what his still-living elders had accomplished, and what he had accomplished working for the State.

However, it seemed to be relevant. When he stopped, the other man was nodding, as if things he had seen or heard made more sense. "You have just explained succinctly, and very eloquently I might add, something that the Drachman military leaders have failed to grasp in my lifetime, and perhaps hundreds of lifetimes. It is also, perhaps, why we have failed to use alchemists in our ranks with any true effectiveness. They still see you primarily as weapons, thrown at enemies for purposes of destruction. So that was how we tried to use ours, when the military was convinced to even attempt it. The entire mindset is, frankly, foreign. That is why, I still believe, that if we could convince Amestris to truly enter this conflict in support of a peaceful Drachma, a _safe_ Drachma, we could still defeat Savahin."

"If I thought I had any hope of convincing them, I would press for it, but I tried before I left, and you know where that has left me."

Marskaya nodded. "I will continue to find other alternatives, but it is my thought that our best hope still lies in Heimler continuing as President of Amestris. If nothing else, I know that they will never side with Savahin either. If the foreign governments accept this, even by choosing to not get involved, than it will legitimize him, and his hold on the country will only grow stronger. Given his methods, I do not think Drachma will survive if that happens."

Ted did not comment that, perhaps, many of those nations would find that a good thing. Broken warring states wouldn't be any better for the continent than one large Drachma, even he could see that. "I'll think on it," he promised. "Thank you for the word about my uncle."

"Hopefully we will receive more news," Marskaya replied. "If we do, we'll let you know."

* * *

Ted wasn't sure what to do with himself when he came out of the room. The main living area had mostly emptied again. Even at night, there was watch to be kept, and signals to be intercepted. There was always the possibility of a direct communication from one of their posts, or some other intelligence or resistance group.

Off-duty until morning, he retreated to the little cave that he had already started thinking of as his room. Not that there was much to mark it as his aside from his bag in the corner. He had brought nothing from home that might immediately identify him as anything other than Drachman, so he didn't have any of the books or alchemical supplies he might otherwise have considered. Not that he'd ever been much of a chemical-set alchemist, even after everything he had learned from Grandpa Ed.

Still, in a week he had accumulated a couple of things. Another set of clothes, since he hadn't come with much, and a couple of books he had borrowed that were in Drachman. They were slow reading, but it was definitely helping his grasp of the language, like the long conversations he'd had with several of the resistance members staying here, or who were in-and-out. So he had those, as well as some paper and pens for writing notes and ideas that came to him. He'd started a journal of sorts; not really a diary so much as interesting information he was learning about Drachma, the culture, the political situation, and Anika. Nothing sensitive or that would give away critical information if it was found and taken from him though. He knew better. Those he kept in his mind, trusting that he would remember enough to write it all down at a later date.

He stopped in his room long enough to grab a change of clothes, then descended to the water cave below, where the bath was, to wash off. No one else was down there, so it was a quick matter to wash himself, clean up the space, and return to his room.

Then he pulled out the books and his paper and his pencil, and started where he had left off the night before. The book he was working through at the moment was an old military history, which he was sure many people would have found dry, but he found it a fascinating read and useful insight into the Drachman mindset. Their history explained so much about what made them the people they were today, and why there had been so much upheaval, even in the past century.

Ted was only a few paragraphs in when he heard a tap on the wooden rough door frame that was the entrance to his room. Ted looked up as Anika slipped through the curtains, which closed heavily behind her. He liked those drapes; they were almost as private as a solid wooden door.

There was something different tonight. Not unlike him, Anika was dressed for bed. Normally when she came, she was still dressed in whatever she had worn that day. Ted would not have called her nightclothes _sensual_ by any means, but it was still very different than the thick-knitted sweaters she usually wore against the cold. For one thing, her entire silhouette was different. The nightgown-a thick cotton-knit of soft blue, with long sleeves, hung down to past her knees, in a loose drape that still hugged the curve of her breasts, and fell over the growing swell of her belly, accentuating the effect of her pregnancy.

Underneath it she was wearing pajama pants, and thick woolen socks. It was too cold to do otherwise, even with the heat that being underground gave them.

She paused, and he could not tell if the expression on her face was amusement or irritation in the dim light. :You're staring.:

Ted smiled, and shrugged. :You're too pretty for me not to stare.:

:Flirt.:

:And completely unashamed by it,: Ted confirmed, setting down the book. :Did you want a back rub?:

:Maybe in a bit.: Anika came further into the room and sat down beside him on the bed. As she got closer to the lamp, he could see the fatigue in her expression, and her posture. She only confirmed it by leaning sideways, and resting her head against his shoulder.

Ted put an arm around her inviting shoulders. :What have you been up to this evening?:

:Helping with the maintenance checks on the vehicles,: she replied. :Not that I hear we'll be going anywhere anytime soon. Did you really bring down half the mountain to block the road?:

Half the… :Who told you that?:

:Niki.:

:Well he's exaggerating my incredible skills, hard as that is to believe,: Ted assured her, relaxing. :But I did block the road so no one can get up here. It's nothing I can't shift when we need it.:

:I wish I could have seen it.:

:You've seen me do alchemy before,: he pointed out, though he felt a little warm on the inside at the idea that she enjoyed watching him perform alchemy.

:It's not exactly something you get bored with quickly,: she pointed out, tilting her head enough to look at him. :Or at least, I don't. Maybe for you who are surrounded by alchemists all the time, it seems more commonplace, and less mystical.:

:Far less mystical,: he acknowledged. :It's a tool, a science. But, if you like alchemy, I can always do some for you.:

:Like what?: she asked curiously.

Naturally she would ask that question. Ted glanced around the room, looking for something he could transmute quickly that would also not be too difficult, or that he might need later. His eyes lit upon the paper on the small folding table that was his make-shift desk, and he had an idea. He picked up one piece, and sketched out a quick transmutation circle, then laid the other on top of it, and added to it a handful of pebbles he had picked up over the past few days on duty. These, he had found in a stream bed, and they were different shades, striated in some cases with a reddish hue, and others green.

In a matter of a few seconds, they had transmuted, changing from paper and rock, into a perfect replica of a rose, only more solid, and the colors not quite as bright. When he picked it up, the surface felt softer, though it weighed more than a real rose would. Smiling, he held it up. :A flower that will never fade.:

Anika's eyes had gone wide. Slowly, she reached out and took the rose. :It's beautiful.:

:Not very original, but it seemed appropriate,: Ted admitted. Given more time he might have been more creative, but he had the feeling that a flower was never a _bad_ gift, and one that wouldn't fade or break easily, and didn't require water or sunlight, was better.

:Well, I think it's wonderful,: she replied in a tone that brooked no argument. :I've seen some of your practical work, and I've heard about some of the other things you've done. I think if I had that kind of power, I'd want to use it to create things more than to destroy. I'd be worried about someone who only used it to destroy.:

It was interesting how her comments echoed some of what Ted had been discussing earlier with her father. But then, perhaps she wasn't so different. As innocent and lovely as she looked dressed for bed, he would never forget his first meeting with her, or the number of times he had watched her accurately use that rifle. He would never make the mistake of thinking she was fragile, but that didn't mean she was made of stone either. :If all the world was focused on creation, it would be a better place,: he agreed.

Anika twirled the stem in her fingers. :I'm glad you came back,: she said after a time.

:Me too.: He kissed the top of her head, because it was the closest and easiest spot to access. :So if you didn't come in here for a back rub, was there something else you wanted? Or were you just interested in the pleasure of my company?: he teased.

Anika chuckled. :Actually, I had vaguely entertained the idea of coming in here and dragging you to bed…but I think I'm too tired, and what I'd really like now is to snuggle up for a while.:

Once, Ted would have cursed his luck. Now, he was just grateful she had even thought about coming into his room for deliberate intimate purposes. It meant that in the few days he had been here, she had not decided that having him in her life was some kind of mistake. :Then I will give you the most amazing snuggle you've ever snuggled,: he promised. :As for the rest well… I am yours to do with as you will, whenever you will.:

As he shifted to pull back the covers, Anika sat up, grinning slyly at him as they edged into bed. :As if I don't know that you'd enjoy every moment of it.:

:I didn't say it would be unpleasant,: Ted pointed out, sidling down next to her and pulling his covers over them both, before wrapping his arms around her. She was facing him now, which made it a little more awkward, but he liked being able to see her expressions, and the feel of her pressed against him warmed him, making him feel both incredibly attracted, and fiercely protective. :I mean, I'd clean out a tiger's litter box for you if you asked me to… which you have,: he added. :And somehow that turned out far more enjoyable that I had anticipated.:

:That had nothing to do with Myrda's litter box and you know it.:

:I still need to thank her sometime for not mauling me at the time.:

Anika looked momentarily wistful. :Hopefully someday you'll get that chance.:

:I hope so, too.: He kissed her again. In many ways, Myrda was Anika's first child, given she had hand-raised the tiger cub. If there was a way to reunite them, he would find it, even if it meant finding a way to smuggle a tiger across international borders. :After all, she's going to be a big sister.:

Anika looked at him as if he was slightly crazy. :We are not having a litter.:

:Even a litter of one is a litter, Mother of Tigers, and I have no doubt this little one will be as fierce as you are.:

:Mother of Tigers…I like it.: Her smile widened. :It's intimidating.:

:Just like you.:

:Do I intimidate you?:

:Yeah… but I like it.: Slowly, he began to rub her back with the hand that was free to move and, as he anticipated, she tensed momentarily, then relaxed, and for a time they didn't talk. Anika closed her eyes, and her face took on that focused expression that told him she was both entirely into the feeling of his hand working her muscles, but also turned inward. It was only when he stopped, mostly to shift himself a little because his other arm was losing circulation, that he realized she had slipped right off to sleep, her breathing deep and even.

Ted wasn't sure how long he lay there, simply watching her sleep, delighting in the rare moment of still peace on her face. Anika was beautiful all the time, and he loved her vivacity, her attitude, her intelligence, her wit… but being allowed to see her softer side, the more open side, to be allowed into her trust… he had no idea how he had come to deserve it, but he had no intention of ever breaking that, no matter where it lead him. He knew he would live for her, and die for her, if it came to the latter. His heart would not let him do otherwise. For her, and for the life they had created, the little spark growing inside her, the one he could just barely feel when she let him try. The one he could feel now, ever so subtly, where her stomach pressed against his. It was as close as he was ever going to get to feeling what it felt like to create another human being…and he could see why his Grandfather always said what a miracle it was that humans could create another life this way…something alchemy could never do.

He found himself drifting, and he didn't fight it. Whatever anyone else thought in the morning didn't matter. This was where Anika wanted to be, and he wanted nothing more than to have her there while he could.

 **June 10** **th** **, 1990**

Sara tried not to appear too excited as she looked at the materials on the table in her parents' living room. It was like being transported back to her childhood, when her father had been teaching her alchemy. As instinctive as alchemy was when you did it for decades, there was something to be said for consciously thinking through the very detailed process involved, particularly when it had been several years since she had done alchemy; since she had been _able_ to perform alchemical transmutations. The Drachmans had marked her, rendering transmutation impossible, for years, and up until now, her physicians had been adamant that she not do anything requiring that much energy until she had time to recover, and rebuild her strength an energy levels.

Now, she was at that point and it was almost silly how childishly giddy she felt at being able to reclaim her skill, the thing she had worked on since childhood, that had been part of what defined her very being, since it made her a State Alchemist. She had been incredibly proud of those skills, and having been bereft of them for so long had required her to learn to survive in other ways, to accept more "normal" human limitations. She had grown as a person in the past several years, but she had always regretted the loss of her alchemy.

Not anymore.

"So, what are you making?" her father asked curiously as he surveyed the raw ingredients.

"A couple of things," she admitted. It had been difficult to choose just one project. "Mom had expressed that she'd love to have something less ugly to go over the top of the rain barrel to filter some of the smaller things that still try to end up in it, so I thought I'd make a decorative screen. Then Franz has been worried about traveling with two puppies and two kittens, so while we did already buy collars and leashes, I'm transmuting a carrier that will specifically carry all four of them on the train that has more secure latchable doors instead of the basket they napped in on the way home. It's also bigger, because they're outgrowing everything pretty quickly."

"Both good ideas," Ed agreed. "Well, let's see it."

"Are you really going to stand there and supervise?" she asked, amused.

"I'm just here as the cheering squad," her father quipped glibly.

Sara put him out of her mind as she focused on the tasks at hand. She already had her ingredients separated into two areas, to keep them objects from mixing. So she set one pile in the middle of her first transmutation circle, and focused, pulling slowly on the energy around her, feeling it course through her, and holding on to it for just a few moments, reveling in the feel of alchemical energy before she sent it into the ingredients blended, and formed, and took shape. It was only a matter of a minute before a lovely latticework of coated metal the size to sit atop a rain barrel came into being. She could have done it faster once, but it would come in time. It was still far quicker than her early days. "Care to inspect it, Maestro?" she teased her father.

Ed picked it up, turning it over and looking at it from all angles. "Very nice. Far more tasteful than I'd have made it I'm sure. Your mother will love it." He looked at her, and grinned. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Knowing I can transmute again when I want to? Yes, yes it does." Sara returned the smile. It made her feel powerful again, in a way that meant she did not feel as helpless as she had once they had taken her abilities, and destroyed her leg. She had a feeling her father had felt the same the first time he did a transmutation after his heart treatments. "I feel whole again." She turned, and started setting up her second project, eager to continue. The first had not tired her at all.

Her father nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. So, does this mean you're ready to go home and get back to work?"

She thought about that as she put her ingredients in place. "I am," she replied. They were leaving in just a couple of days to go home. Franz would have been gone nearly a month from Central by the time they returned, and the government needed its military President. He was doing much better, and it was time to go back. They both had things to do, and now she was well enough to be in a position to help him. "I've learned a lot of things that will be useful to Amestris, and now I can actually put some of it to use, as well as getting back to training alchemists, which will help get my skills back up to par more quickly."

She appreciated that her father didn't seem to feel the need to ask what she would do with those skills. Even as long as he had been retired, he still ended up getting dragged into all sorts of situations where his skills as a fighter, an alchemist, or even just a brilliant mind were put to use. It didn't seem to matter that he was over ninety.

Instead, he just nodded again in agreement. "They'll be lucky to have you back."

"I hope they're happy to have me back," Sara admitted. "I'm not planning on taking anyone else's well-earned promotion. Trisha said she was happy to have me back to help teach, and it won't really be full-time. I don't know what else I may be assigned. With my luck, they'll try and shove me back behind a desk."

"Oh, we won't do that."

She turned her head as Franz entered the room. "Is that a promise?"

"Well, I can't promise there might not be paperwork if you insist on doing work," he amended, "But I think you'd be wasted there." He stepped beside her and bent over, kissing her cheek. "You do whatever you want to do. I'm sure Trisha and Fischer will assign you to whatever duties you tell them."

"I'm not sure I like being given carte blanche to just choose my assignment," Sara admitted. "It's nice, but it seems to step outside the line of command."

"Only unofficially. You'll have plenty to teach all of the rest of us about Drachma, since you probably qualify as the only expert we have on some hither-to unknown aspects of Drachman society, even to our intelligence officers in the country."

"I'd like to talk to them when we get back." Sara wanted to compare notes with them on several things, including a long list of names of people she had met in the prison system, and subsequently memorized since she had no other way to write them down. "I suspect that a lot of things I remember that would be of little consequence to anyone else, might be very useful to intelligence." Even if she wasn't sure how some of it would be, that didn't mean it was worth dismissing. Still, her knowledge of the system, how it was run, and who was in it was likely to be useful to someone. If nothing else, it was a very broken system in need of fixing, and whomever ended up on top in this conflict, she desperately wanted to give them a piece of her mind if prison reform was not somewhere high on their priority list.

If that winner was Savahin…Well, she was almost certain it wouldn't be. Sara understood why Amestris was doing its best to remain neutral and stay out of Drachman politics, but in her heart, she knew she _personally_ never would be.

"We'll arrange a meeting as soon as we get back," Franz promised. He knew how she felt, and she was relieved that he had not tried to make her feel otherwise. He was slowly accepting the little quirks she had picked up regarding the few things in Drachma she had appreciated—like the occasional good food, the music when someone would sing to while away the hours in the prison, the views of the mountains—and her now fluent grasp of the Drachman language, and stronger tolerance for the cold. Most importantly, while he had been shocked that she did not now hate all Drachmans, he seemed to be accepting of the fact that she felt a lot of empathy from her shared experiences with many. _Sara_ knew that the best thing that might happen to Savahin's political enemies was being thrown in prison. That would be if they were fortunate. She anticipated executions of anyone else they caught, probably public, and without trial.

When they got home, she definitely intended to see what she could do about the situation, without breaking Amestris' peace.

* * *

 _8/20/2019: Author's note - Happy birthday to me, more chapters up! And we come to the end of the 'interlude.' This political monster of a mess is far from over and full of drama to come!_


	41. Chapter 41

**August 2** **nd** **, 1990**

Ted willed his breathing and his heart to remain steady as he watched the compound below through his binoculars. Tucked deep in the mountains, it wasn't really big enough or equipped to be a prison. It _was_ however the location where Savahin's men were reported to be holding several political prisoners who had managed to evade the Drachman military after the coup for some time, but had gotten unlucky and been recently caught.

If the names they had through the resistance's intelligence were correct, the people kept here could be incredibly useful. There were only three prisoners as far as they knew; one the local government representative for this district, who had been fortunately not in Petrayevka to be massacred with a large portion of the rest of the government leaders. The other two were ranking military officials, both of whom General Marskaya knew: one was a logistics officer, and the other an explosives specialist.

Ted could see why Savahin hadn't killed them yet. They were not so important or well-known as to be useful as hostages yet, but they might be useful if they could be convinced to work with him.

Marskaya had insisted that all three of the people here would never side with terrorists, even if their lives were at stake and those terrorists ran the government. Seeing as that was currently the case, Ted hoped the General's trust in these people was correct.

Beside him, Anika had her rifle trained on the guard at the main gate. The compound consisted of one building that was an old military supply depot, surrounded by a concrete wall, topped with wire. Beyond that, the one guard on duty at the front gate was the only visible defense.

The rock ledge they were looking over was thankfully tall enough for them to kneel behind, and rest their arms on top. It curved underneath, making a bit of an overhang. Not that sitting there for hours watching the enemy was comfortable, but it was better than many positions Ted had found himself in.

It was also much better for Anika, since it gave her needed room to lean forward without pressing her stomach too hard against the rocks. Ted would have objected to her coming on this mission if they had been assigned the role of breaking in and rescuing the prisoners, but for this scenario, they were mostly the rear and high-guard. Ted's job was to use alchemy to bring down part of the wall in a more isolated end of the compound. Kirill and Rolf –another member of the resistance movement that had come to work with them in the past month—would be going in, breaking them out, and bringing them out through the exit which, if no one had noticed it, Ted would repair with alchemy, leaving the enemy to wonder just how their prisoners had escaped. If things went badly, Ted and Anika would take out the guards from above. There was minimal risk to either of them personally.

Not that Ted would have minded taking on the risk—he had already been the front team on a couple of these raids in the months since his arrival—but for this mission, his ability to transmute at distance would be far more useful.

So, they waited for the signal from below, which would come from Rolf, who was the person Ted was actually looking for. He shifted his binoculars back to the right. It was late afternoon, so while it was far from being dark, the ravine that the compound was in had already fallen into dusk.

A brief flash of a mirror catching a stray remaining sunbeam was the signal he was waiting for. Ted sat back, set down his binoculars, and placed his hands to the pre-drawn transmutation circle. Then he closed his eyes, and focused on the circle, on the energy flowing between him and it, and with the deep reaching feeling of the ground below, reaching until he found the different material that was the wall, following it to the right place, and splitting the wall neatly into a man-sized passage.

He heard a small, appreciative gasp from beside him. "They're moving through," Anika told him. Then, "They're through."

Ted closed the wall again, but only a thin layer on the inside, to save time later. No one on the inside would be able to see that the wall was not what it appeared to be. Then, he opened his eyes. "Now, we wait."

Anika nodded. "Five minutes, and counting." She hit the timer on the stopwatch they had with them. Five minutes was all it should take if everything went all right. They knew the layout of the place. It was a standard military layout that was the same all over the country, which was very convenient in a situation like this one.

The only room that would be good for holding prisoners was the same one used for holding the most valuable equipment, which was in the center of the building, and one floor down. That meant how long it took the two men to get in and out with captives would depend on how many other people they ran into on the way, and how long it took them to break down or unlock the doors. They had a set of lock-picks, Marskaya's set of military keys just in case there were standard locks, and some tiny plasticized explosives Ted had helped transmute beforehand that would allow them to blow locks without taking out whole walls.

Time ticked by very slowly for such a short wait, and Ted simply took the lack of noise and commotion as a good sign. Five minutes was the ideal time. If they heard nothing, they were to wait for ten. If, by fifteen, either of the other men broke radio silence to call for aid, they were to take out the guard at the front and Ted was going in after all of them, with Anika to watch his back from above.

"You doing all right?" he couldn't keep himself from asking as he watched Anika shift uncomfortably on her knees, then lean until she was sitting sideways instead.

"Fine as can be," she reassured him, "Unless you can transmute a rock into a pillow."

"Not a comfortable one," Ted admitted, but he relaxed a little. If she was joking, she wasn't too uncomfortable, even if the position in which she sat to both keep an eye on their target and sit without putting too much pressure on her belly looked a step shy of some contortionist's position. "Thirsty?"

Anika nodded, and Ted pulled out a canteen, handing it over to her first, and waiting until Anika had drunk her fill before taking a sip himself. Then he put it away.

Three minutes.

Ted returned to watching too, but all was quiet down below. The gate guard looked half asleep at his post. Given there was only one road that led up to the compound—at least, if you didn't know the area—Ted supposed that there was no reason for the guard to expect anything this far out. The other raids had been over a month ago, and in a different area all together.

At five minutes there was still nothing.

At seven minutes nothing.

At eight-and-a-half minutes Ted thought he heard what sounded like a small muffled pop that could have been an explosion or a gun going off underground. The guard at the gate must have heard it too, because he turned to look but did not leave his position. This told them that, as expected, he presumed that whoever was inside the building could handle it.

Everything began to happen at once. Seconds later, the door burst open and five people streaked around the building towards the back corner. This, it seemed, was enough to startle the guard into action, like the several other people who came boiling up out of the building after them.

"This is it." Ted slammed his hands back on the circle, concentrating, and pulling the wall open again.

"One through…. Two… three, four… and that's it!"

Ted slammed the wall shut again. Down below, he heard a shout cut off abruptly. When he opened his eyes, Anika looked a bit green. "What's wrong?"

"You… one of the soldiers… the wall…"

"Well he should have stopped," Ted commented, knowing it sounded callous, but this was war. "Are all of our guys through?"

Anika nodded, her eyes and her gun still focused below. "They're through, and the soldiers have no idea what to do about that wall. A couple of them are running back the other way. Might be to get a vehicle or go around the exterior."

"Then that's our cue to leave," Ted grabbed his sack, quickly rubbed out the circle in the dirt with a rag so if anyone found their spot, they wouldn't know an alchemist had been there, and helped Anika to her feet. They needed to get back to the truck.

Fortunately, the path back, while narrow, was fairly clear and not too steep. The reason it was difficult to locate had to do with the fact that the first part looked like it had been washed away by rainwater and erosion years ago. A person had to be right up next to the path and look at the right angle to see it. The men who had once been assigned there knew of it, but the military soldiers there now were all Savahin's reassigned men, and not the locals.

Ted and Anika made it back to the truck first, with the shorter hike, made at a brisk walk. Anika hopped into the front and started the truck. Since it was a standard military people-mover, the rest of the seats were in the back, which Ted opened, lowering the heavy back gate so everyone could jump in on arrival and they could make their getaway as quickly as possible.

He had just finished when he heard feet pounding on rock, then dirt. Turning, he saw Kirill, Rolf, and three other people hurrying towards them.

:Let's go!: Kirill shouted.

Ted didn't need to be told twice. He ran for the front, hopping in beside Anika, and buckling quickly.

They waited only long enough to hear the gate to the back slam shut before Anika put the truck in drive and they sped off down the dirty mountain track as quickly as the truck could safely manage.

It was a three-hour drive back to the hideout without delays, but they couldn't drive straight back, not without making absolutely certain they weren't being followed. So, when they hit their first paved road, they drove in the opposite direction, giving the thick dirt on the tires time to wear off on the road, until they weren't leaving tracks on the pavement. Then they headed West for half an hour, before taking a split that allowed them to wind back towards Talanya, the small village that had been their best source of quiet information and supplies.

They did not stop for gas, merely moved on through, and then continued their trek up their mountain, pausing for Ted to move, and replace, the rockslide that served as their security gate.

Ted did not relax until they had pulled inside the cave and parked the truck safely with the other vehicles. He hopped out of the truck, and helped Anika down. :Nice driving.:  
Anika smiled at him before reaching in to pull her rifle out of the cab. :I've had a lot of practice in these mountains.:

:Anika?:

Ted and Anika turned simultaneously to look at the man who was staring at them. Or rather, at Anika. Ted had a feeling that the man they had rescued hadn't even registered him standing there. He looked to be about their age.

Anika tensed beside him, and looked irritated. :Hello, Matveo.:

Matveo; that made this guy the demolitions expert of the three they had rescued. As the others came up behind him, Ted suspected that the middle-aged woman was the local government representative, and the middle-aged looking balding gentleman the logistics officer.

However, that seemed to be the last thing on Matveo's mind as he continued to stare at Anika. :What happened to you?:

Ted didn't like the hint of shock and—was that disgust?—in his tone, but he was forestalled from getting involved by a subtle shake of Anika's head and a glance that said _stand down.  
_

Bristling, Ted complied.

Anika looked at Matveo and shrugged. :I haven't the faintest idea what you mean by that, Sergeant Vasili, but you might show a little more gratitude to your rescuers. Not that you were ever polite enough not to stare.:

The man blinked, then seemed to shake himself. His eyes went to Ted, and he looked at him sharply. :My rescuers? Who is that guy?:

:Call me Ted, or Sir,: Ted replied, holding out a hand for a friendly handshake, though he gave the other man a look calculated to make him think twice. Since Marskaya had continued to afford Ted the rank that had been his due in Amestris, he had no intention of not using it with a guy like this. :Alchemist. Your escape route was my doing.:  
Matveo Vasili took his hand and shook it firmly, even though a quick moment of distrust and possibly a little fear flickered in those eyes. A lot of Drachmans still seemed to have an instinctive fear of alchemists. Well, good, let him be afraid. Just the way he'd spoken to Anika made Ted dislike him. :Then I suppose I should thank you,: Matveo replied stiffly.

:You're welcome,: Ted's response was no less formal. :So, you know each other.: He glanced between Matveo and Anika.

Matveo nodded as they let go. :We grew up attending the same schools.: He grinned then. :She used to have a thing for me.:

Anika's snort of derision sounded like an explosion in the cave. :Get over yourself, Matveo. I spent six years _turning you down_ at least once a week. We never went out and I wouldn't go out with you now.:

He gave her a look that Ted didn't like. :Not like I'd go out with you now anyway.:

Ted was beginning to regret rescuing the man, even if he was a demolitions expert. :Watch your mouth,: he growled.

:Oh, well now, I've hit a nerve.: Matveo snickered. :Who is this guy really, Anika, your watch dog?:

Anika's expression turned into a cool smile. :Hardly. He's my fiancé.:

Ted wished he could have gotten a picture of the stunned look on Matveo's face. He was likewise grateful he'd managed to keep his own shock off his face. That was the first time Anika had referred to their relationship as an engagement.

There were several long awkward seconds of silence, until they were broken by Kirill and Rolf bringing the other two people they had helped out of the truck forward. Volga Reinhert, he representative, looked disheveled, but otherwise unhurt. :Thank you, both of you,: she gave her own fervent gratitude, and shook their hands.

The logistics officer, Von Remelev, was also eager, and much friendlier. With the tension broken, they all went into the living area, where General Marskaya met them with the eager relief of someone who knew the people he had ordered rescued. While he was polite to Matveo, he was outright friendly with Remelev and Reinhert, both of whom he had worked with in the past in different capacities.

Coats were removed, food and drink were offered, and once the report was given, Marskaya vanished into the second meeting room with all three of their guests, leaving the rest of them to themselves.

Ted hadn't even gotten up from the table when Kirill and Rolf both vanished down to their respective rooms, probably to clean up. It was best wait on that then, since the last thing they needed was three or four of them in a line to use the wash facilities just now. :So, what do you want to do?: he asked Anika.

:I was going to take a soak, but I think the bath will be busy for a while.: She looked mildly disappointed. :We should really let our guests have it first.:

:I'm sure they'll understand,: Ted pointed out. Kirill he was certain would probably give up his place in the bath line to let his sister soak out her aches. :Unless you'd rather have a back rub first,: he offered.

:Tempting, but I think I just want to sit for a few,: Anika admitted, :And maybe have another serving.:

:Go ahead,: Ted offered, reaching for her plate. :We didn't have much today. It's no wonder you're hungry.:

Anika gave him a grateful if irritated smile. :I'm hungry because _your_ offspring eats like you do.:

Ted could not effectively argue with that, though he shrugged as he filled her plate and returned it to the table. :I warned you,: he teased gently. :My whole family's like that. Now you eat that, and by the time we're done the bath should be free.:

Anika picked up her fork and took another bite.

Ted was debating refilling his cup of coffee when the door to the command room burst open and one of tonight's radio-tech burst through it shouting :Emergency broadcast! Live radio! They've taken Karmatsk!:

"Shit." Ted whirled to stare at the man, who had already vanished back into the room. Out of the depths of the mountain, and the other room, came the thundering of feet followed by every single person in the hideout, Ted and Anika included, bolting through the door and cramming themselves into the room to hear the radio broadcast.  
The other radio tech had run it through to the speakers instead of just a head set, and what Ted heard was not promising.

"….siege for several months, has been taken. This afternoon, despite harassment from the back, military forces breached the walls of Karmatsk, occupying the city and capturing over two-dozen traitors to the Drachman government. Citizens of the city who cooperated were unharmed. Six former government officials who refused to stand down were shot when they attempted to avoid arrest. Our Glorious Leader is scheduled to give an official statement from the State House in Petrayevka shortly regarding what looks like the end of a long holdout by an extreme minority. Please stay tuned for a live broadcast of that speech at the top of the hour.:

The radio went to a commercial, and the tech turned it down.

For nearly a minute no one said a word, then small murmurs and mutters started to fill the air as the information sank in. This was a huge blow to any resistance attempts to restore the old government.

Ted's mind was whirling, remembering all the work they had put into plans to withhold that siege, and where people could hide in the city. His mind was racing as he listened to the numbers. There had been more than twenty government officials and related employees crammed in to the Gurina estate. Some of them must have managed to hide, but clearly they hadn't all had time to escape the city or get down into the cellars. In either case, that meant that not everyone was a prisoner. He didn't like it however, that they hadn't mentioned who was dead. Probably the broadcasters did not know, but that still meant something important, if Ted could just put his finger on it.

The tech was fiddling with the television now, trying to get the signal that would televise the speech instead of just listening on the radio.

"Do you think they're under the city?" Anika whispered quietly beside him. "Or do you think they're out?"

"Depends on which direction the soldiers came in from," Ted replied. "If they cut them off before they could get to the basements, anyone who got out would have to have gone through the secret door. We'd have to get into the city and ask around to find out though."

"Hard to do when it's occupied." Anika's brow furrowed in thought.

Ted shook his head. "Actually, now that they've taken it, all we'd need to do is slip in and blend in to the local population. You heard them; folks who didn't fight weren't harmed. That means most of the townspeople should be all right. They'll be keeping their heads down and their noses out of military business, doing their best to get by as normal for however long the military stays."

"Which will be until they're certain that anyone they haven't caught or killed is no longer in the city."

"Exactly." He would have asked if she was actually trying to figure out a plan for breaking into the city—he already certainly was—when a shush from the tech made him look up.

The program was starting.

The scene in front of them was not one Ted was familiar with, given his brief visit to Petrayevka had not included the stately government buildings. Still, it was impossible to miss the trappings of a new dictator working hard to convince the country he was the rightful leader and in their best interest. Savahin wore a fine suit, nothing fancy or Imperial looking, but there was something in his manner as he stood there, that made Ted feel like he was watching someone who wanted nothing more than to take hold of the Empire he had brought low, and instead of making everyone equal, he would take the power for himself.

:Today, is a glorious day,: Savahin began, speaking into microphones that carried the sound across a large open square. He stood on a balcony, surrounded by what were ostensibly government officials who supported him. Ted suspected armed guards somewhere very close by, ready to shoot anyone who tried to get in the way. :Today, we can begin to mend the holes that have been torn in our great country. Our military has captured the backbone of the traitorous resistance that has held out these recent months, and now occupies the city of Karmatsk. Of course, in their benevolence, they used only necessary force, and no law-abiding civilians were harmed. They are now safely once again under the protection of the military.:

:Safe for who?: someone growled behind Ted. He couldn't tell who it was.

:Let it not be said that there is no mercy in Drachma,: Savahin went on as if he were some great benefactor, gesturing expansively. :For those who still fight against the government, lay down your arms and come together with us, so that we can return Drachma to a place of harmony. Work with us, not against us. If you do so now, I promise you will not be executed for your crimes.:

:Like there aren't a dozen other horrible things he could do instead.: The muttered this time was clearly Kirill.

:You have three days. At the end of that time, anyone who has not cooperated, and anyone who harbors or abets them, _will_ face deadly force.: There was nothing benevolent about his expression now. His face had gone hard and dangerous.

When it was done, the room burst out in much louder conversation than it had before. It seemed that everyone had a theory on how many people had survived, or hadn't. Everyone had questions about how many people had actually been in Karmatsk, and who had still been there, and how they might have escaped.

Ted had more pressing concerns, like the niggling detail in his mind that told him this wasn't over, not by a long shot. "They don't have Mihalov!" The realization hit him so unexpectedly that he exclaimed aloud.

Several people stared at him, but only the few who knew any Amestrian seemed to understand what he'd said.

General Marskaya's head had whipped around at his words. In moments, he was face-to-face with the General. "What do you mean?" he demanded in Amestrian.  
"Think about it… Sir," Ted added belatedly. "All this going on and on about all the people they captured, and all the people they so kindly didn't slaughter for no reason. If Savahin had Mihalov, he would _not_ be keeping that a secret. It makes no sense to hold that information back if he wants the opposition to give up and come along quietly. If Gavril Mihalov were dead, he'd be shouting it across every network. If he had him in custody, he'd be doing the same thing. Keeping us guessing doesn't really make a resistance movement more likely to come out and hand themselves over…and he knows it, because his mockery of a government used to _be_ one."

"You make a good point." The General's expression turned thoughtful as he considered the options. "I believe you are correct. It fits what I know of Savahin. Anika told me that there were two possible escape plans, once involving a way out of the city, and the other a long-hidden hiding place, much like the one we are in, but in the city itself. Which one do you think he would have used?"

"The one in the city, if he could get to it," Ted replied without hesitating. "If he got outside the wall, he'd still have to have a way of getting down the road in either direction or cross country without being caught. While it's feasible, that would be the more difficult and dangerous possibility. The Karmatsk hide-out could hold large portions of the townspeople, and had never yet been located by invaders, or so the people who showed it to us explained. The doors are incredibly well hidden, because they don't particularly look like doors and they're not where you would expect important people to run to hide out." He took a deep breath, and continued with the plan that was still half-forming in his mind. "I think we need to mount an intelligence gathering mission that may also be a rescue party, and I think we need to do it immediately."

Marskaya frowned. "They'll be expecting trouble."

"I don't mean trouble." Ted shook his head. "I mean a small group designed not to stand out, who can blend in to the city, and find out what happened. If Mihalov isn't in the city, and we can verify that they don't have him and haven't killed him and decided for some insane reason not to broadcast the news across the continent, all we have to do is slip out again and no one the wiser. I got in to that surrounded town once. I can do it again."

"You're assuming you'll be assigned to this mission."

"Actually, I'm explaining why I'm the perfect person for this mission." It was weird, having a plan spawn like this one, particularly when he was stone cold sober…not that he wanted to be at the moment, but there wasn't much to drink down here anyway. "First, I've been in the city. We learned every nook, cranny, and name of a local. Blending in wouldn't be hard, and since they know us, they wouldn't dare give us away by calling attention to us. We're also the only people they'd trust in that hideout I bet you odds."

"More fair points." Marskaya did not look pleased however. "You keep saying "we.""

"Because if he goes, I go," Anika butted into the conversation. "They know us both, and no one is going to expect _me_ of being a spy." She rested one hand pointedly on her stomach. "Getting in and out again with the information we need will be simplest with a small team, but if there aren't people they already know on sight, the towns folk won't help. They wouldn't give anyone away, but the information we need is probably very simple to get if we can just get into the city and ask someone who would know and has no reason to lie."

Part of Ted wanted to object, but he realized he had been working the whole time under the assumption it would need to be at least one of them, and two were better. "We're also the closest resistance cell to Karmatsk," he pointed out. It was still a long drive, but if they could get in in three days, they could get the information and find a way to communicate it out before Savahin's deadline.

After that, they could take as much time as they needed getting out safely. Though the less time they spent in Karmatsk the better.

"It's a risk, but we don't have much time," Marskaya acknowledged. "Let's work out this plan. I want a detailed proposal. Any team will have to leave before first light tomorrow morning to have a hope of making it up to Karmatsk in time to do any good. If we can't get a confirmation, there are smaller groups who may give themselves over."

"Yes, Sir." So much for turning in for the night, or any hope of resting tomorrow after today's mission. There simply wasn't time, and this was why he was here. They needed a detailed plan, with several back-up contingencies, if they had any hope of making this work. That, and a lot of luck.

Fortunately, Ted generally had both. He turned and looked at Anika as Marskaya ordered the removal of all but a small group from the room. "Are you sure about this?"  
Anika nodded. "We're the right team for the mission, and as long as we don't expose ourselves or get violent, we should be just another couple of random citizens."

"What if they recognize you?"

"Me?" Anika scoffed. "My father is the famous one. My face hasn't been on television in years. Besides, right now I'm hardly recognizable."

"From the back, maybe," Ted argued. "Your face doesn't look a bit different."

"Maybe, but no one will be expecting my face on this body," she insisted. "No one who hasn't been in this hideout, with the exception of my brother's family and my uncle, knows that I'm pregnant."

Ted couldn't argue with that. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Of course. After all, I'm coming along to watch _your_ back."


	42. Chapter 42

**August 3** **rd** **, 1990**

When the Drachman news hit international media it spread like wildfire overnight, recordings of Savahin's speech being replayed on the late-night news in Amestris and Creta, and by morning it had hit broadcasts on television and radio from Kartos, to Aerugo, to half-way across Xing.

This meant, of course, that no one in the office of the President in Amestris Military Headquarters had gone home that night. Or, if they had, they found themselves back in the office at midnight as emergency sessions were called to keep abreast of the situation on their northern border. They weren't the only ones. In Pylos, in the Imperial City, in Buéaire, National leaders and military commanders gathered to wait, and watch, and plan.

Sara hadn't realized exactly how much she missed this, not that she said as much as she sat with Franz, Cal Fischer, Tore Closson, anyone with recent experience in Drachma, and over a dozen other Generals and senior members of the Assembly around the large table in the President's private briefing room. At this hour, almost no one was actually in uniform unless they hadn't changed before being called back in, but that didn't seem to matter. What mattered was figuring out what the most likely outcomes were, and what Amestris' plans were for all of the possibilities.

All of this centered around a detailed briefing from intelligence, as well as the military press secretary, investigations, and any department with any current and relevant knowledge about the situation. Even then, they were left with a large number of unanswered questions and gaping holes in their information.

"There's no way Gavril Mihalov is dead," Cal insisted. "If he was, Savahin would be slathering that news like butter on toast. It would be exactly the action he needs to break the back of the resistance and quell the remaining uprisings across Drachma. Once the populace thinks they're beaten, they'd give up."

"I agree," Franz nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses, "In theory. If he were dead, that would be a win for Savahin. That doesn't rule out the possibility of capture though."

"Wouldn't it be better for him to announce that immediately too?" Tore pointed out. " _We have your leader and we can kill him whenever we want. Surrender now._ "

Sara shook her head. "Not if he's playing a longer game," she replied, drawing every eye in the room without trying. That was something she was still getting used to; the fact that people sometimes still seemed to see her as having come back from the dead, or somehow an expert. She was hardly the first prisoner of war ever to be rescued. "I would like to point out that this is the same political group that dropped me in obscurity for _years_ until I could be used as a useful political ploy. Leaving it ambiguous means that the Drachmans siding with the remaining group that represents the original government and order of things means those folks resisting have to consider whether or not Savahin might actually have Mihalov, or others, or not. They haven't said specifically who they do and don't have, or if he's going to kill them. However, by giving them a deadline of three days, he's drawn a hard line after which _something_ will happen, and whatever that something is, they definitely won't like it. Savahin's a madman, and they know it. The problem is, that it is pretty clear he _also_ knows it. That makes him unpredictable, and aware that despite the widespread violence, the other side isn't as ruthless as he is. They won't stoop to the levels he and his compatriots will to quell the people disagreeing with him."

"So, you think he's got Mihalov?" a younger Assemblywoman she didn't know well said from the other end of the table.

Sara shook her head. "No, I think we don't have enough information to make an educated guess one way or the other. All we really know right now is this is a major blow to morale, and the likelihood of putting any form of the original government we were allied with back together is pretty much gone. It may be split and rife with civil unrest, but Savahin rules the country, at least for now." There were always the uprisings that followed violent turnovers in Drachma, usually no more than ten years later. Their history, which she had learned far more in depth after living there and having literally nothing much else to do other than ask other prisoners to tell her things—and them nothing better to do than to tell her—was even more ruthless and violent than Amestris' admittedly brutal past.

That pronouncement made for a very grim downturn in the mood, as everyone mulled over the heavy reality of what that meant.

"For what it's worth," Travis Pritchard, the intelligence officer in charge of the Drachma division chimed in, "I agree with General Heimler's assessment. Though I did get one minor bit of news that might give us a little more information to go on."

"What is that?" Franz turned and looked sharply at the man.

Pritchard looked down briefly at his papers. "According to a report I received this evening, at the same time Savahin's forces made their final push on Karmatsk, there was a military raid on a small town in south-western Drachma, where Gavril Mihalov's estranged wife and daughter are reported to be living. Or were… they weren't anywhere to be found."

That caught Franz' attention. "Do we know where they are?"

"That is a different mystery." Pritchard shook his head.

"Actually, that's not quite true."

Every head turned to look at Trisha, who was sitting between Roy and Tore.

"Would you care to elaborate, Whisper?" Franz used his daughter's Alchemist name.

Trisha nodded. "When we pulled the Ambassadorial staff and civilians out of Karmatsk, Mihalov asked me if I would take with me a letter to his wife and daughter. He knew we might not be able to deliver it, but he wanted to make sure it got to them someday if anything happened to him, and I promised to send it her way if I could. I even had permission to look at it to verify that it held only personal messages. While I do not know all of the details, I do know that Mrs. Mihalov and the girl did receive the letter, and that they are now residing quietly—under pseudonyms for now—in Pylos, under the quiet protection of the Cretan government."

"And how do you know that?" An older Assemblyman asked skeptically.

Trisha smiled. "Because Minxia Argyros called me weeks ago to inform me that the wife of an old friend of mine had come to visit for an extended stay, and that her daughter was quite delightful, and their children very much enjoy each other's company."

Sara stifled a smile at the perplexed expression on the man's face. "Then that's one pawn Savahin doesn't have to hold over anyone's head. No doubt he'd have used them both, and killed them both, if it would have gotten Mihalov to surrender."

"But he failed in that, and the attack was almost simultaneous. It seems ill-timed."

"Or he made a threat to them first that we didn't hear about," Franz suggested thoughtfully. "Mihalov refused to concede, and the raid went off anyway. Then they made their push to capture the city. It may actually be precisely timed. They could have attempted to take the city the way they did much sooner, but they didn't."

"Or they couldn't." Sara interjected again. "The snow up there doesn't go away….ever really, that far north, and the cold wreaks havoc on the larger equipment, even as cold-proofed as it's been."

"What matters isn't the timing, at least, not for our purposes here," Cal cut in. "What matters is that Mihalov is missing or captured or dead, if probably not dead, and we need to figure out what to do with what we have. Right now, we're not even at war. Will it _stay_ that way? Do we prepare an offensive front? Do we prepare to go on the attack if it looks like we're going to be invaded again?"

Sara watched Franz out of the corner of her eye. His brow was deeply furrowed in thought, and the cup of herbal tea in front of him forgotten long enough it had gone cold.

"For now, there is little we can do before the three days are up," he said finally. "We increase patrols on the border, make it clear we're watching but without making any overtly hostile moves, just ones that demonstrate a common sense move at a time like this, to keep the peace and to keep anyone from spilling over our border. We tighten that border and don't let anyone else across. I mean _no one_ ," he emphasized the words, "to show that we are not planning an invasion ourselves. Then, we call for a summit. Phones are fine and good, but we need a full council of Continental governments to determine what we should do if Savahin truly does turn isolationist or, more problematically, if he decides he's an expansionist."

A high probability in Sara's mind. All for the commoner and the common good rhetoric be damned, Savahin was no one's selfless patriot. Not any more than her own tormentor had been, and he had at least believed the ideals he had espoused. Savahin would probably have murdered him anyway, given the chance. Franz had just taken a blockade out of his way.

"A summit, a sensible idea," Assemblyman Rands, the current Chairman of the Assembly, nodded. "Quietly, of course. If we advertise what we're doing, Savahin will hear of it, and will almost certainly take it as a precursor to war and an outright threat."

On that they could all agree. Sara nodded. "Bring them here without advertising the fact, with minimal fuss and fanfare. No state dinners, no big cavalcades, no _obvious_ security. Have them arrive on different days and leave the same way. This will help avoid the notice of the press." The tenacity of journalists today, and the speed at which they dispensed information now with better radio signal and wide-spread television, as well as print material, was impressive.

"Creta, Aerugo, and Xing," Rands nodded as he took notes. "Invite them to send representatives of their ruling body besides their Ambassadors? They have those already, but they need to send someone authorized to officially speak for their nation and make decisions."

"And Kartos," Sara added.

"Do you really think Kartos will be any use to us?"

"Kartos must be invited." It was Tore who spoke up, to Sara's surprise. There was fire in his eyes. "Drachma has been trying to annex or conquer them to create a better shipping port and sea-route for generations. Kartos has always managed to hold them off or beat them back, mostly due to terrain, but also tenacity. We've spent several years now building up a relationship with them, and their relationship with Creta; not inviting them would be not only insulting, but foolish."

"That's precisely what I was going to say," Sara nodded approvingly. "If Savahin tries to expand Drachma in any direction, he will probably make a full out assault on Kartos first. It's a small country, and a centuries old thwarted goal. Drachma, for all its land mass, does not have a good port city on the Western ocean. That coast for them is cold, narrow, and almost unreachable by land due to the size of the mountains there. The best pass through them leads right out into the flatter northern part of Kartos, following the river to the ocean. They know that attacking the corner of land they share with Creta, so close to the Amestrian border, would be foolish. If he wants to attack someone before he finishes reorganizing and rebuilding the full Drachman military, then that is the place to do it."

"All right, I'm convinced," Rands conceded. "Invite Kartos to send a representative. That still leaves us with one large tiger in the room."

"Which is?" the younger Assemblywoman asked.

Sara thought she was fortunate she only got a few _how stupid can you be_ looks. Even she knew what Rands was getting at.

"The Drachman Embassy in Central," Franz nodded. "Or rather, the former Embassy. They are still, as they have been since Savahin took over, under house arrest, with their communications to Drachma cut off entirely. None of them have been harmed, and they've been surprisingly agreeable about it. Of course, they all claim that none of them were part of this underground movement to overthrow the government."

"Can they be believed?"

"I have spoken with them repeatedly these past weeks," Pritchard nodded. "Frankly they appear relieved that they aren't in contact with the current administration and have a sound reason to not be available. House arrest is as much protection for them from Drachma as it is a way of keeping Drachma from getting any information we don't want them to have about what we're up to. I have also found no evidence of any subversion on their part or attempts to undermine Drachman/Amestrian relation. Everyone's backstories check out."

"The question is," Franz steepled his hands together in front of him, "Do we invite them to any portion of this little meeting? They _were_ the representatives of an alliance we held with a legitimate Drachman government; a government that despite going into hiding and being nearly decimated, has continued to attempt to rule from a besieged city. That they are now captured…this is something that maybe we should tell our Drachmans, if they haven't seen it on television. We did leave them the ability to watch some news, didn't we?" he looked pointedly at Pritchard.

"Yes, we did. No radio because it's too easy to rig a transmitter and send signals out, but they don't have the materials to send out a television signal through the system. They've probably already heard the news. In fact, if we send for them tonight or first thing tomorrow morning, we might find them incredibly cooperative, with information if nothing else."

"They can't exactly form a new treaty for us or cause a cease-fire," Cal quipped sardonically, "But they're at our mercy, which so far we've shown them. Sounds like they owe us something for not treating them like—"

"Hostages?" Sara asked with one carefully raised eyebrow.

Cal's face flushed slightly, but he nodded. "I'm just saying that even if we can't entirely trust them, they've got little choice but to cooperate."

"A meeting in the morning then," Franz nodded. "I want private messages to all of the relevant governments out by morning. Those will be handled by appointed members of my staff. Let's set a date of August fifteenth for the actual summit. Almost everyone can get here by then except whomever they send from Xing, and that will give them enough time to get here. I don't think there's much more we can do tonight other than keep gathering information and waiting for reports from our intelligence officers in Drachma." He looked at Pritchard. "Anything else?"

"Just one thing," Pritchard flipped his stack of papers to another report. "There's a recent report that one of the resistance groups seems to have an alchemist working for them."

Sara felt Franz stiffen beside her. "An alchemist?"

"More than one military compound has been hit and patriots liberated, but some of what's being reported simply can't be accomplished with regular ordinance. One Drachman officer apparently wrote the words _black magic_ on an official report trying to explain it."

Yes, that was alchemy all right. Sara hoped that was Ted. It would mean he had found his pretty sniper, and was still alive and well. "Do we know anything about the location of this cell?"

"Only a region," Pritchard apologized, clearly aware of what Franz and Sara were probably thinking, since he had been one of the officers in charge of helping organize the search for the missing alchemist who had eluded them. "The reports put the locations of raids fairly far apart and without an obvious pattern."

"Which you'd expect if you were trying to keep anyone from locating your base." Cal sipped his coffee.

They could hope it was Ted, but for now the information was just that, more information. No rescue party would be sent, Sara knew. The fact that Ted had effectively, though not through proper channels, resigned his commission and run off to Drachma was still a tightly guarded secret among a few. Or at least, the reasons behind it and what was said. "We should get to work," Sara suggested, shifting the direction of conversation back to matters they could do something about. "I, for one, will feel more comfortable when we have an actual plan."

Franz adjourned the meeting, and as everyone streamed out of the President's briefing room, Sara followed Franz and Trisha out and the few yards to Franz's office.

"Who's handling calls?" Trisha asked curiously as they walked into Franz's office and closed the door.

"You heard him," Sara smiled at her daughter, then her husband, "We are. I assume you want us to call from home?" she asked Franz.

He nodded, and gave her a tired smile. "I should have known you'd work that out. Yes. If we call numbers we call regularly, from private lines outside the military, they're unlikely to be tapped or overheard, and on any phone records will simply look like regular calls. Trisha, I'd like you to call Minxia and Thrakos and get the message to President Argyros that way. Sara, call Elena and Maes Mustang. They're currently at their Ambassadorial house in Buéaire. I'll call Xing. Will and I already talk semi-regularly, so that won't seem odd."

"What about Kartos?" Sara asked.

"Minxia and Thrakos can handle it when we're done," Trisha chimed in. "After their work helping convince the Kartosian government to protect some of their historical sites, they've got a good enough relationship with them to pass the invitation along, including safe passage through Creta to Amestris since the fastest routes here from Kartos cut through the corner of Drachma."

"Are we really going to wake family and friends up in the middle of the night?" Sara asked. She was absolutely willing, but she didn't think a few hours was going to make much difference in the middle of the night.

"No. We're going to wake them up early in the morning." Franz grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair where he'd abandoned it earlier. "From our houses, which means it is time for all of us to go home and at least pretend to catch a few hours of sleep."

"That may be the most sensible thing you've said yet," Trisha smiled, then kissed her father on the cheek. "I'm going home. Roy went to get the car, and I left Rosa in charge in case anyone else wakes up. I'd like to be sure my house is still standing."

"Of course." Sara smiled and hugged her daughter—something she would never forget to do again—and watched Trisha leave before she and Franz walked the halls of Central down to the parking lot and their own car.

"You really took charge in there," Franz commented quietly as they got into the car.

"Did I?" Sara hadn't thought about it. She'd just said what came to her mind, as usual. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize." She realized Franz was smiling, even as he focused on putting the car in driving and backing out of the spot. "You were brilliant, and everyone listened to you. I can't remember the last time Rands argued that _little_ about something."

"Really? Then I'm glad I didn't see him on a bad day." Sara sat back against the seat, belt snugly across her chest. "Brilliant, really?"

"As if you could ever be otherwise," Franz insisted. "You've always been a natural leader, Belle. You're one of the most capable and intelligent officers Amestris has ever had, and that's even discounting my heavily biased preference. Others have said so. When you weren't here, there was a huge hole at headquarters that it took multiple people to even begin to try and fill. Tonight, you had their rapt attention. You could have said we needed to invade the moon and they would have followed you."

"Okay, _now_ you are exaggerating," Sara objected.

"Only mild hyperbole. I'm serious, Sara."

"They just listen because they still think of me like some weirdly resurrected saint," she echoed her earlier thought.

"That's not entirely true." Franz shook his head. "I mean, it's probably a little true, but you are also now one of our best resources for understanding the culture we're dealing with that spawned someone like Savahin in the first place. To Pritchard, you're basically the best undercover agent we ever had. To the Assembly, you're intimidating as hell because you've survived more than any of them can imagine, even the few who retired from military service."

That made Sara feel a little better about the situation. "Still, _you're_ the President. This is your show, not mine."

"Do you really think I'm at all upset about you supposedly stealing my thunder?" Franz was clearly startled. "You're charisma incarnate, and you have been the entire time I've known you. It's something you inherited from your father, and made entirely your own. I'm as much a military bureaucrat and politician as anything else. I made functional decisions, command decisions, based on tactics. People follow my orders because I'm the boss. People follow you because you make them _want_ to. I spent the first years I was in office feeling like I'd taken a job that was meant for you, and while I don't feel that way anymore," he assured her quickly, "I don't feel threatened by you in the slightest. So, you go on being you, and maybe between us we can come out of this mess without a second Drachman war."

Sara was both warmed and relieved at Franz' reassurance, and his acceptance that they needed to do these things together. "We _do_ make an unbeatable team."

 **August 4** **th** **, 1990**

Ted had never expected to find himself in Karmatsk again, or anywhere nearby, yet here he was, once again trying to break into the city with Anika beside him. Only this time, he didn't have his entirely highly trained team of State Alchemists. The trip up had been done with minimal stops, and some nerve-wracking periods where they simply had to drive on a major highway or risk not getting there in time. There was no way to forget the deadline looming in front of them, and the anxiety of not knowing exactly what would happen when that time passed made every minute feel like the seconds were racing by faster than normal, even as they spent the better part of two days and a night trading off drivers to get there.

They had parked outside of patrol-distance of the city and taken up the same position they had original used to spy on the city on their first arrival. Ted had a feeling their original entrance plan would not be available, especially without someone to generate huge quantities of mist. They'd have been lucky if in the warmth of August it was misty at night, but the air was dry tonight, and the sky cloudless, with a beautiful view of a sunset that would soon turn into a nice of scattered stars.

Not that Ted and Anika were looking up. Below them, the city looked much the same as it had before, except that now instead of camping outside the walls, the entire army seemed to have moved inside. There were guards walking the walls, lining it every twenty yards or so, and they were well-lit with lanterns so there were no shadows along the top. There were clear guards at the entrance gates, and even patrols outside on the ground.

Going over the walls had never really been an option. Anika was not in a position to be scaling walls or other vertical surfaces. "What are the chances they've found the garden entrance?" he asked aloud even as he scanned the other side of the city, focusing on the grounds of the Gurina Estate, which seemed to have been completely taken over as a temporary military headquarters. It made sense, having the most room for barracks, though there was a virtual sea of tents within the walls of the estate. Ted hated to think what they had done to the landscaping, but it was only a passing thought. There were far more pressing issues.

"Even if they haven't, I don't think we can sneak through _that_ ," Anika pointed out. "Besides, if we're here to get information from the citizens, we don't need to go near the estate. We just need to get to the store."

Ted nodded. "Which means we still need a way in through the regular city." The only openings in that wall were where the roads ran out of the city at either end. Those were gated, and Ted would bet they closed them every night, even with those guards standing there. "Which means… we're going to have to bluff our way in."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Anika give him a suspicious look. "Just want do you mean by bluff?"

"I mean, we're going to have to go right through the gates, and convince them that we are harmeless and they want to let us in."

"Unless alchemy can also double as mind-control, I think that's a lost cause." Anika shook her head.

"No, we just need the right story." Ted sat back, thinking furiously. He had pondered this possibility ever since they left, and they had multiple plans of potential attack. The question was, which would be the most effective here? "The truck is standard farm gear. I think we should pose as local farmers coming in from the country. There are farms near here aren't there, up in the hills?"

Anika nodded. "There are. Some very remote ones too, where the radio signal is iffy and the television wires don't run. So maybe we didn't hear about them finally taking the city?"

"Or we did, and we came down now because we've been siding with Savahin the whole time, cause the party's always been about getting rid of the nobles, and we're not big on nobility running the place." Ted thought that might work. "Too bad we don't have something to offer as a gift on the way in." Some really potent, or drugged, alcohol would have been a good thing to bring with them if they'd had any. He tried to think of anything they had he could transmute, or that might just be in the supplies in back. "Or do we?"

"We might," Anika conceded. "There's usually a bottle or two of vodka in the back, for medical uses, whether it's as a disinfectant or a painkiller."

Ted had a feeling it was potent enough to be effective as both. "That's our best bet. We offer it to the guards, tell them we've got family in the city, just want to make sure they're okay and reprovision, have you see a doctor," he added with a sideways smile. "Things that we haven't been able to do for months, with the city barricaded. It's perfectly believable."

Anika nodded. "And your Drachman is good enough now we can probably pass you as a local, finally."

"I will pretend that's a compliment of my quick study of the language." They were dressed nondescriptly enough, and there was nothing in the truck that _wasn't_ something a mountain homesteader might have, rifles included, though Ted intended to have theirs tucked away in the hidden compartment cleverly built in to the back of the seats in the truck; the good ones. The worst of the lot would be wrapped up in the back since it would probably have seemed odd for a farmer to be without some kind of weapon in the back of his vehicle. If they found one, they might not look too hard for more because they would find what they expected. "We should let them find the vodka when they search the truck. If we just offer it to them it'll seem too suspicious."

"Anything else we can do to seem less suspicious?" Anika asked dryly.

Ted shrugged. "Well, I mean, it would be awfully convenient if you _were_ about to have a baby right now."

"Convenient?" She stared at him.

"Wrong word." He smiled sheepishly. "I just mean from a plan perspective, a woman in labor tends to panic most men, and it would be _really_ convincing. Obviously, I don't really want you to give birth early in a city full of enemy soldiers." He didn't really want her giving birth underground with only a former military medic for a physician, but he might not have a choice there either.

Anika shook her head, then stood and started walking back towards the truck. "Let's get this over with."

Ted followed, hoping the plan wouldn't go south before they did.

* * *

Ted had honestly not expected their plan for getting into the city to work as well as it had. They had left the one other person they had brought with them, Anika's brother Niki, waiting in the hills with a radio and the smaller car he had driven behind them in caravan all the way up. Whether they got back out of the city quickly or not, whatever information they got would.

The guards at the gate had been alert, suspicious, but not paranoid. Ted and Anika had been able to convince them that they were just local country folk, coming into the city now that they could get in, for much needed supplies and medical care. As Ted had anticipated, they searched the truck thoroughly, though they did not find the hidden compartments. They _did_ find the vodka, which Ted had offered them as a "thank you" for dealing with the complicate situation in the city. They knew it was part bribe, as did he, but not for the reasons they thought. They had accepted it, and allowed Ted and Anika to drive into the city after checking their very-carefully-transmuted IDs.  
They also followed the directions of the guards at the gate, driving straight to the hotel nearest the gates, and checking in with their names and false IDs. Ted presumed that meant that was how they were keeping track of who was coming in and out of the city, and who might be suspicious. The room was small, and up on the third floor. Ted also wasn't above assuming they had already tapped the place. So, while they were in the room, he and Anika made certain only to make small talk about their trip, and making sure to go over and set up an appointment at the hospital.

Once they were out walking down the street in the falling darkness, they could talk quietly, but freely.

:You're really going to make me do this aren't you?: Anika asked as Ted lead them in the direction of the hospital.

:If we have time, yes,: Ted replied. :It will help establish our cover, but it wouldn't hurt to let an actual doctor with obstetrical experience take a look at you, would it?:

:No,: Anika agreed. :They might even be able to tell us what we're having.:

Ted looked over at her. That was a weird thing to say. :How would they do that?:

Anika blinked, startled by the question. :With ultrasound scans? Don't tell me you don't have those at home?:

Ted shook his head. :I've heard of scanning with sound, but that's not something our physicians use much. We have medical…experts….for most of our medical analyses. They can tell all sorts of things, but identifying the gender of an unborn baby is something they won't even promise a guess is remotely accurate about.: Though he supposed, in a country where alchemists were practically anathema, and alchemy was rarely used for anything, they would have adapted by advancing in other sciences. The idea that they might be able to tell what they were having ahead of time was fascinating, and a bit surreal.

Anika smirked. :Well then. There's something we have that you don't.:

Ted did not argue. When they arrived at the hospital it did not take long to fill out new patient paperwork, and they were told there was an appointment time first thing the next morning. Afterwards, they made several casual comments about going to find dinner, and then headed out, meandering down streets that were well lit with plenty of restaurants, looking as if they were just trying to make a decision.

In truth, they knew exactly where they were going. Still, it wouldn't do to be obvious about it. Finally, they made their way into the little café they had visited what seemed like years ago, despite it only being a few months.

Not wanting to be suspicious, they sat down, looked at menus, and ordered from the waiter who took their order and came back shortly with drinks, and a basket of hot cheesy bread rolls. Ted ate a couple, but left most of them for Anika, who unapologetically finished the rest.

About then, dinner came, and Ted enjoyed a thick steak with the dark spicy sauce that was typical for the area, with a side of spring vegetables. Anika had ordered the same, but also with a bowl of stew. As much as she insisted that she was getting plenty to eat, Ted knew better. He was glad they had brought enough money to cover the expenses of a trip into town. When they were done, they ordered a thick custard dessert, paid, and then Ted casually asked if he could pay his compliments to the management.

This was the key moment, because how well the rest of the evening went, and all of their mission, would depend on if the man recognized them, and was still willing to trust them.

It was only a couple of minutes before the tall, broad form of Yuri Palov loomed over the table, looking more curious than anything. Given they had assured the waiter they wanted to provide complimentary statements, there was no reason to be too suspicious.

:Good evening, Mr. Palov,: Ted smiled up at him, :It's a pleasure to see you again, and eat from your fine establishment.:

Palov blinked, then squinted in the lamplight, looking Ted sharply in the face, then Anika. His eyes lit with recognition. :Thank you, Sir. It's always a pleasure to have repeat business. You have been well, I hope, since your last visit?:

:Very much so,: Ted nodded. :Work has been very _productive._ :

Palov gave Anika a meaningful look, then smiled. :So I see. Would that be the reason you're in town?:

Anika nodded. :It is. That, and we had to come eat at your lovely café again, and catch up on news. We don't get much out on the farm.:

:Of course not.: Palov agreed. :Tell you what, why don't you stay a bit longer? I'd love to catch up with you after we close.:

:We don't have to be anywhere,: Ted nodded amicably.

After that, it was only another half-an-hour until the restaurant closed for the evening. Once everything was closed and the staff gone home, Palov returned to their little corner table. :I did not expect to see the two of you again,: he admitted without preamble. :How did you get into the city?:

:Told them we were locals, come in to the city now that things are _back in order,_ : Ted grinned. :Needed to resupply, visit a doctor. They bought it. Though they made us sign-in at a specific hotel, so I suspect they'll check on us at some point. The room is almost certainly tapped, so we've been staying in character.:

:Good.: Palov nodded. :Tell me, what is the actual nature of your mission?:

:Information,: Anika took over. :We've been working with my father for the past few months. Then when the news broke about the capture of the city, there were a lot of unaddressed questions, like who was alive and who wasn't.:

Palov nodded. :Do you know the safe word?:

Anika and Ted both nodded, repeating together : _Akashta_ is best served hot.:

At that, Palov's shoulders visibly relaxed. :Follow me.: He stood, and led the way through the back of the restaurant, to the hidden secret door, and led them down the stairs, closing the door tightly behind them. It was a double-precaution, Ted knew. No one could follow them, but if they proved to be traitors, they would never leave the cellar again.

Ted was shocked by what they found, mostly at how few people there were, maybe a few dozen, all told, tucked away in allotted measured spaces; almost all of them elderly, or mothers with children.

Except for the ones who clearly were not, and those were the people Ted and Anika had come looking for. Set aside in one corner of the large cellar room, under several extra lamps, were a handful of people that Ted recognized in passing from his stay in the Gurina house. Two of them were members of the government whose names Ted did not remember, both middle-aged men who had been fit enough to make their escape. A couple of them looked to be members of the household, and one that Ted recognized immediately as Mrs. Nichola Gurina. It was a battered group, showing signs of recent trauma. The only one not bandaged somewhere visible was Mrs. Gurina, and Ted suspected that the others had taken wounds to keep her safe.

He did not recognize the others, but he suspected they had come out of the house as well, and he could not see clearly who was lying on the beds.

Everyone in the room watched them with a mix of suspicion or hopelessness as Palov led the two of them down the aisles. Ted tried his best to look non-threatening.

It was Mrs. Gurina who recognized them first. Rising to her feet, she looked at them in disbelief. :Anika?:

Anika reached out to the other woman, and they clasped hands. :Yes, it's me. We're back.:

They embraced briefly, and while Mrs. Gurina took a long moment to look Anika over, she did not voice questions she certainly had. Instead, she asked, :How did you get into the city?:

:With a clever mix of truth, lies, and a lot of luck,: Anika replied with a smug little grin. :We heard about the occupation of the city, but Savahin has been reporting…well, it's what he hasn't said that has everyone wondering. He's called for the surrender of all resistance groups, but he won't say who he has captured, or killed, and who may have escaped. We came looking for answers, before everyone gives up.:

:Of course. Your father has always been a wise tactician.: Mrs. Gurina nodded. :Come, sit, both of you. You must have travelled incredibly quickly to get here.:

:It was a long trip,: Anika acknowledged as they both followed her back to the group.

:Please, Mrs. Gurina,: Ted cut in, feeling anxious to know, now that they were here, the information they had come for. :Is your nephew here? Is he alive?:

She didn't look offended by the bluntness of the question, but there was a sorrow in her eyes that caught any further words in his throat. :He is here,: she surprised him, as she gestured to one of the beds. :As for alive…well… how long that lasts remains to be seen.:

The face on the pillow was as white as the sheets. The vitality was gone from Gavril Mihalov's face, and he lay very still, clearly unconscious. His breathing was shallow, but seemed steady enough. Ted realized that the person sitting beside him was a medic. :What happened?:

:He took a bullet in the back during the escape,: the medic replied. :Missed most organs, but there seems to be some intestinal bleeding.: He sighed. :There's not much I can do for him, not down here. If we could get him over to the hospital, we could perform surgery, but if we take him above ground, the patrols will catch us, and the only people they shot at when they took the city were those who fought or ran.:

:They'll figure out it's him.: Ted understood. :If we could get the supplies down here instead, could you save him?:

:Possibly, but I'm surprised he's held on this long. On the long end, I wouldn't give him more than another day, maybe two, only because he's been too stubborn to die so far.:

:Make a list,: Ted told him. :I'll see what we can do.:

:How are you going to get medical supplies down here?: the medic looked skeptical. :Or across town for that matter?:

:We're going to be in the hospital tomorrow morning,: Anika explained. :If you can give us the name of someone trustworthy, we might be able to get you surgical tools. I can't promise you a table though.:

:You can use my kitchen,: Palov said immediately, though he grimaced as he did so. :The prep-counter in the kitchen is large and stainless steel. It gets sanitized several times a day.:

Ted was suddenly grateful they had eaten dinner at the restaurant tonight. After tomorrow, he might feel differently about that kitchen. :Small tools we can sneak. If you have a sanitized table and hot water, will that do?:

The medic nodded. :I think so.:

It would have to do.

:Excuse me,: Mrs. Gurina stepped in then. :As much as I appreciate everything you're planning to save my nephew, is that why you're here?:

:In a way.: Ted turned to look at her. :We're here for information. We have a colleague waiting outside the city with a radio so we can get him word on specifically who escaped, and who is dead. The resistance needs to know. The whole country needs to know. An awful lot of people have begun to envision Gavril Mihalov as the face of Drachman peace and a return to their quieter lives. If he dies, the hope of millions dies. If he lives…well, there's still hope for Drachma, and I suspect if we ever win, they'll insist on sticking him at the head of it all.:

:You keep saying we,: Mrs. Gurina looked at him curiously. :I was unaware the Amestrians were involved in our plight anymore. In fact, I was certain they had declared that you were remaining neutral from any official standpoint.:

:I'm not here on behalf of my country,: Ted replied frankly, :only myself, for my own reasons.:

He caught her glancing once more between him and Anika, and was sure the shrewd old woman was putting it all together for herself. :I see.:

:Ted, is there anything _you_ can do for him?: Anika asked.

The question surprised him. Ted looked at her for a moment before he realized what she was actually asking. :I'm not an alkahestrist,: he replied, before realizing probably no one here even understood the term. :I'm not a medical alchemist,: he repeated more simply. :At least, I don't have any training. I've seen my Uncle Ethan perform medical alchemy, and my grandfather.: He'd had it done _to_ him a few times in his career. :I mean, I understand the basic theory, but I can't promise much of anything.:

:Would it make things worse?: Anika pressed.

Ted thought for a moment, wracking his brain for everything he knew about alkahestry and medical transmutation. If he did not use Mihalov's own energies, but pulled from the world around them, and used mostly his own strength, even if he didn't manage to do much good, it shouldn't kill him. :It could, but I don't think it's likely. At the worst, it would probably do nothing.:

:Then can you try it?: the medic asked, looking both wary and slightly curious. :He's going to die if we don't do something.:

The pressure they were putting on him was nerve-wracking, but Ted couldn't say no, not with the looks on everyone's faces. Hadn't he just said Mihalov was that important to the Drachman cause? :All right. I'll give it a shot.:

Ted pulled a piece of oil pastel out of his pocket, and carefully drew out the simplest healing circle he had seen his uncle and grandfather use. All he wanted was to focus energy on the body and encourage the body to use that energy to heal itself, quickly. If he focused on that, surely he could manage something. Maybe he could stop the internal bleeding, at least long enough for surgery. How they would get him out of the city, even stabilized, Ted couldn't imagine, but it seemed very clear to him now that their mission required that he do his best to save Mihalov's life, and that they take him with them.

He could not have said _how_ he knew, flashes of insight didn't work that way.

When it was done, he placed his hands gently on the sheet above the man's chest, closed his eyes, and concentrated inward, then down on the body in front of him.  
Sensing a person through alchemical energy was weirder than the inanimate elements that made up most of the materials he was used to using for transmutation, though it was a little more familiar, he supposed, to the lesser energies of plant-life. Felix Tringham could probably have given him some guidance here, but alas, his team was not here. It was just Ted.

Just Ted, and a dying man.

He tried to think about what his grandfather had told him about healing with alchemy, and focused on not pushing too hard. Instead, he did his best to find the wrong spot…. Since he knew where the bullet wound was, it wasn't hard to find, or to sense the life force leaking where it shouldn't be. Then, he pushed all the energy he could at that spot and, not sure exactly what to do, thought hard at Mihalov's body, as if inviting it to dine on all that energy and _do something with it._

He had no idea how long he was deep in trance, but when Ted came out of it, it was with a sudden jolt, and he was suddenly aware again of everyone around him, and the fact that they were staring, and that he was covered in sweat and exhausted. Despite having just eating a large meal, his stomach growled audibly. Ted looked down at Mihalov's face. He thought, if he wasn't hallucinating, that his skin looked a little better, with a hint more color. The breathing under his hands felt a little deeper and more regular. At least, it seemed that way. It could all just be wishful thinking.

:Fascinating.: The medic was staring at Mihalov, ignoring Ted completely as he moved in with a stethoscope, listening to Mihalov's heart and lungs, checking his pulse, and other tests Ted didn't immediately recognize. :Absolutely amazing.:

:So, it did something then?: Ted asked as he leaned back, putting one hand back quickly to keep from falling out of the chair.

:He's stabilized, at least for now,: the medic reported, which was met by a general round of small noises, some gasps, others of relief from the group around them. :I can't say for certain that everything is as it should be without further observation, but we should move ahead with the plan for surgery.:

Ted realized that his audience had grown. :How long was I working?: he asked Anika.

:Almost twenty minutes,: she told him, looking a little awestruck herself.

No wonder he was starving. :Well, it was worth it. Is there… anything to eat?: he asked hopefully.

Anika smiled. :Actually, yes.: She turned slightly, and when she turned back around from the small table behind her, there was a plate of more of what they had ordered for dinner; another steak, and a pile of those rolls. :I've seen how you eat after large transmutations. I asked Palov if he had anything left he could prepare quickly. These are apparently left from this evening.:

:He had a leftover steak?:

:It was fresh and marinated. You took long enough to work he had time to cook it. The rolls are probably not very warm now.:

:They're perfect as they are.: Ted took the plate, and scarfed down two cheese rolls in quick succession before he started into the steak with the cutlery. It was all he could do not to gulp it down in chunks, but the plate and the entire pile of rolls settled his stomach. :We're going to need to get back to the hotel before too much longer,: he said when he had finished. :I'm certain they'll check on us by the curfew hour they warned us about, and the last thing we need is them tracing us here.:

:I'll take you back upstairs,: Palov promised. :I can let you out the back and you can take the back alley out to the square three blocks down. From there it's a short walk back and there should be minimal guard patrols.:

:Thank you.: Ted handed the plate back and stood, feeling much steadier.

:No, thank you,: Mrs. Gurina replied, looking up from where she had returned to the side of her nephew. :For the first time in two days, I can feel hope, even if we aren't out of this yet.:

:And I'm not sure how long you'll be in it,: Ted admitted candidly. :We did not come prepared for any large rescue missions.: From here, they were going back to the Marskaya base, in theory. That presumed they could get out of the city without being chased back, in which case they would have to evade pursuers and avoid capture before returning. Or kill them. Ted was not above it if it came to that.

:I understand,: Mrs. Gurina replied without fear. :Information must come first. See to that. The rest will come as it does.:

Ted nodded. :Hopefully, it will turn out in our favor.:


	43. Chapter 43

**August 5** **th** **, 1990**

Ted waited once again in the cellar with the rest of the surviving government-in-exile, anxious and fidgety. If there was one thing he hated, it was standing still when he had the urge to be doing something. If there was a second thing he hated, it was waiting while something was happening about which he could do nothing. Upstairs, the medic was operating on Gavril Mihalov in the restaurant kitchen, with Palov as his only surgical assistant, using the tools that Ted and Anika had cleverly smuggled out of the hospital with the assistance of a doctor who was friends with the medic, and very much on the side of the resistance. The walk over from the hospital had been incredibly tense, particularly when they were stopped—as seemed to happen at least once on their way anywhere—and asked to show ID and explain themselves. They were also asked to turn out their pockets. There hadn't been any pat-searches or metal detectors, but that was a matter of luck on their part, Ted suspected. They _had_ the official paperwork from the obstetrician who had looked Anika and the baby over at the hospital, to prove they had been there, and were now on their way to find something to eat and pick up their supplies at the grocers and the pharmacy, since they had a prescription for vitamins for Anika. These passed muster, and they were allowed to continue on. Then they were fine until they crossed into another patrolled zone.

Ted glanced across the room to where Anika was sitting on a cot next to Mrs. Gurina. The two women were speaking quietly, and Ted couldn't quite make out what they were saying. There was an occasional smile, so he suspected it probably had something to do with the baby, and their visit that morning, or some other such topic. For all he knew, Mrs. Gurina was given Anika advice on husband-training. Or, since he didn't know her that well, they might be discussing shotguns for all he could really be certain.

Still, it had been a fascinating visit. Ted was relieved to have an expert's opinion that Anika was in good health, even if she was a bit thin and vitamin deficient. Ted wasn't surprised, given their recent living conditions. The baby was growing fine and doing well, measuring on schedule, and appropriately active with a good, strong heartbeat.  
Even as an alchemist, to Ted the ultrasound technology was something akin to magic. He even understood it, and it was crazy to watch the fuzz on a monitor resolve itself every so often into clear movement, or something that almost looked like a human body part. He _had_ to mention this technology to his Uncle Ethan. Maybe he and Ren could improve upon it with alchemy. _Seeing_ a child in the womb, even if just barely, was a breathtaking experience. It also made the imminence of that upcoming birth much more immediate.

 _A boy,_ he smiled to himself, feeling the same bit of self-satisfaction as he had in the room where the technician had pointed at some portion of that fuzzy moving mass on the screen and said that he was almost entirely certain that the baby was very clearly male, as he pointed out both moving legs, and what was between them. Of course, Ted had been presuming that their chances for a boy given both families had been almost a given, even though two of his brothers had managed to produce girls. They still had far more boys between them all.

The sound of the door above opening, and creak of feet heavy on the old wooden stairs drew Ted's attention, and that of everyone else in the room. The soft murmur of conversations died, as first feet, then knees, then the full body of Palov came into view. He looked like he never wanted to cook meat again, he was drained paler than usual, but he nodded once. :The surgery was successful,: he announced to the room. :Medic says there's no bleeding and the organs are intact. There was still some tissue damage, and he's stitched that up.:

A quiet cheer went up from the crowd, the happiest whispers Ted had ever heard. He joined Palov. :So he'll make it then.:

:He's still very weak,: Palov said more quietly. :And he has a lot of blood to replenish, but there wasn't any infection, so given time to rest and good care, yes.: Then he frowned. :He can't stay down here forever and get that. There's still the risk of discovery. If you could get him out of the city…take him somewhere with a hospital that isn't being patrolled and searched three times a day….:

:I'm not sure how,: Ted admitted, even as he felt his brain start turning the idea over in his head. :We have the truck, but they'll search it on the way out. I'm not a good enough alkahestrist to disguise him, even if we could get him to move around without being in a bed, or disguised as a corpse.: A morbid but plausible idea…maybe if they made it look diseased? But no, the hospital would have him in a morgue, not being sent out of the city. Still, maybe there was a way. If they stayed in the city longer than they told officials, they'd need a valid excuse, or a solution incredibly quickly.

:Let's worry about that after we get word to Niki,: Anika suggested from beside him.

Ted hadn't realized she had joined them. He nodded. He had reported in last night from a quiet location in the city where no one should intercept their radio signal. Today they would radio from a different location to avoid setting any kind of pattern, but they would be able to give the news that Mihalov had survived surgery and was expected to live, if nothing else. :You stay here,: he suggested, :And I'll go do that now. If anyone asks, I can tell them you're visiting your sister. Once the restaurant opens it won't seem weird that I meet you back here.:

Anika nodded even though she clearly didn't like the idea. :Fine, but you'd better scope out a grocer on the way there or back so we can legitimately buy supplies that look like they're for a farm kitchen. If we don't, it will be suspicious.:

Ted nodded, and kissed her cheek. :I'll find us the best produce left in the city,: he promised. Not that he anticipated much after months of siege. It would be whatever any local farmers might have brought in, what people had in small gardens in their yards in the part of town that actually had lawns, and whatever had survived the winter. He knew that as well as they had eaten in the café, Palov was running low on supplies as well, and had run out of several items on the menu already.

From the alley, he made his way down to the end of the block before slipping into what was a relatively normal amount of daily mid-morning traffic. The restaurant wouldn't open for an hour, so coming out the front would have looked weird. Still, people were attempting to go about their daily lives as best they could, since there were things that needed to be done, and it seemed that the occupying force expected things like food, and coming in to shops in their off time. After all, they had been stuck _outside_ the city without a lot of comforts for months. They wanted some of what they had been missing, even if that might be browsing. Ted had heard that despite them having nosed through every single house and business in town in a two-day period, they had destroyed very little, and there had been minimal civilian injuries or deaths outside of the ones that had occurred during the rain focused on the Gurina house. They had known where to focus their attack, and that was where they had gone directly.

Ted remembered most of the city from their detailed inspections and investigations during their stay, and he made his way down into the rest of the shopping district, where he did find a grocery store. He ducked inside, since that was a natural place for him to be going given what they had reported coming into the city for, and was pleased to find it full of people. It was a fairly large building, and he easily wound his way down several aisles and past multiple displays. In the back of the building he found what he was looking for; a sign that said there were restrooms in the back, if one went through the double-doors that also led to the back of the building and storage.

Some things seemed to be similar no matter where you were, and Ted was pleased to find that the restrooms were near a back-loading dock door. This time of day, almost all of the employees were out front seeing to customers, so Ted had no trouble ducking out the back.

With the murmur of the city around him, no one was likely to hear him or find him back here. Ted ducked out of sight in the alleyway anyway, just in case, and pulled out the small radio unit he'd brought with him, adjusting the frequency to the new one they had discussed last night using code, and then put it up to his ear. :Fox to Hound, come in.: He repeated it twice before he got a response, from Niki's recognizable voice.

:Hound to Fox, report.:

:Still in the henhouse,: he replied. :Fed the Chicken this morning successfully, but we need more feed. We're going to try and bring the Chicken out if we can manage it.:  
That got him a long moment of silence. :Glad to hear it ate. We could use another Chicken on the farm. Will they let it out?:

:I'm working on that part,: Ted admitted, though walking through the grocer's had given him an idea. There were an awful lot of crates used for hauling food. They were going to be taking back a farm's month worth of rations. He could ask for it to be packed in crates. If he had a wagon, he might have a viable way to hide a whole man in plain sight. :It involves produce.:

:Actual produce?: Niki blurted out.

Ted suppressed a laugh. :Yes. Chickens love produce you know.: He was grateful they had worked out code words for most things ahead of time, because it made this easier and anyone listening would be unlikely to expect that resistance members would refer to Mihalov as Chicken.

:How's the Vixen?: Niki asked.

Of course he would ask about his sister. Their brief conversation the night before had included the fact that they would be seeing a real doctor this morning. :Doing well, we saw the pup.:

:And what kind of pup will it be?: Niki asked, a hint of eagerness there. :Fox or Vixen?:

:Looks to be a Fox,: Ted told his soon-to-be brother-in-law, trying not to sound too proud, though he was sure he probably failed.

Niki chuckled on the other end. :Should've known. When do you think you'll be coming back to the farm?:

:As soon as we have everything we need,: Ted replied. Times were the trickiest part. :We might give the Chicken a little more time.:

The other side of the signal got quiet again for a minute. :I'm not sure whether you should tell her this or not,: Niki said soberly. :I got a call from Grandfather last night. There's news out of the city that they're shutting down the Communal Public Farm, and they're going to sell off all the animals at auction, and slaughter any that don't sell.:  
It took Ted a moment to puzzle that one out. Grandpa was code for the General, since so few people knew Anika was pregnant and he _was_ already a grandfather, since his oldest son had children. A giant farm, animals…. His stomach sank. He could think of one large group of animals, one in particular, that Anika cared for very deeply. :Myrda?:

:Yes,: Niki replied. :There's all sorts of rumors of where or when, but they've ordered everything of value up on trucks and they're sending them out to an undisclosed location for the auction. Seems its by invitation only.:

:She's going to want to save her, you know that,: Ted pointed out, biting back a curse in his head. :And I can't not tell her. If I don't, she'll never forgive either of us. That's her first child we're talking about.:

:I know.: Niki sighed. :Do what you think best. Tell her we're trying to work out a solution, but there's no way we can manage to purchase all of them. There's just too many.:

:I understand. I'll find a way to tell her.:

:Good. That's all for now. Contact me when you're ready to come home. Hound out.:

:Fox over.: Ted changed the setting, turned off the radio, and stuffed it back deep into his clothes, grateful for the small size as it slid easily into the padded folds of his jacket lining. He had no idea how he was going to tell Anika that her hand-raised tiger was being sold at auction, or she'd be killed. However, he also knew he couldn't let it happen. Not if there was a way to rescue even just Myrda.

First a major Drachman political figure, and now he had to figure out how to rescue a giant white tiger and smuggle them both out? Ted wasn't sure how much more unexpected curveballs the creative part of his brain that came up with insane ideas that worked could take.

* * *

:Well, we have to go after her,: Anika said with that look she got when she wasn't going to accept any answer that wasn't a yes ma'am with a solution to the problem.

:I know we do.: Ted had no intention of picking that fight. He knew he would lose, and he didn't want it to happen either, :But first, we have to smuggle Mihalov out of Karmatsk, alive, and get him out of reach of the military. And I think…that we might have to take him out of the country completely to find him a safe place to rest and heal up.: The more he thought about it, the clearer that became.

:That will take too long!: Anika shook her head vehemently, and he could see a tear starting down her cheek. :By the time we got back from anywhere, she'd be sold off as some exotic pet, or hunting target, or she'd be dead.:

Ted put his arms out, and rested both hands on her upper arms. :Anika, please. Give me a minute and listen to my plan before you lose faith in my completely, okay?: He smiled, hoping it was reassuring.

:I am listening.:

It was something. :Once we get out of the city, if we find out where they're taking Myrda, maybe we can meet up with whatever rescue team has been organized, if they haven't already gotten to her and saved her before we get there.: That would be nice, even if it seemed unlikely. :Even if they can't save anyone else, your family knows how much Myrda means to you. They also want to make sure the zoo staff are safe.: Which made sense, given the fact that as far as Ted was aware, every single one of them was sympathetic to the resistance movement trying to reclaim authority, or an active member. Given what was about to happen to their animals, Ted doubted any one of them were going to be even okay with Savahin ruling the country after this.

:How do you expect to find out where they're having a private, invitation-only exotic animal auction?: Anika asked skeptically.

:Actually, I won't have to,: Ted pointed out. :Your father has all the connections he could need. There are plenty of members of the Resistance, and friends of your father's, who have been playing it quiet, behaving as if they've accepted Savahin just to get close enough to him to see what's really going on in the government, and see if anything can be done to bring him down from the inside." None of this was new information, but he suspected the reminder would calm her down and get her thinking analytically again. :Probably what he's doing now is getting one or more of them to express interest in exotic pets in the hopes of getting an invitation, or at least find out from others who is going and where it might be. Even if they only get a general area, it's awfully hard to hide a tiger, elephants, bears…. Dozens of squawking exotic birds.: Someone would hear them certainly.

Anika nodded. :That sounds just like what Dad would do,: she agreed. :I'm just worried about her.:

:I know. I'm worried about her, too,: Ted admitted, pulling her in gently for a hug. She didn't resist, her arms wrapping around the barrel of his chest. :She was awfully nice not to maul me considering we took advantage of her hospitality.:

A soft snort against his chest might have been a sob or a laugh. :That's one way of putting it.:

:Well it's true. I half expected her to eat me to protect you. Of course, sometimes I still expect you to eat me.:

She peered up at him. :Am I that intimidating?:

:Absolutely,: he replied fondly. :It's one of your most endearing qualities.:

 **August 6** **th** **, 1990**

Alyse was surprised to hear the door that led up from the garage open at a quarter before six. As crazy as things at Headquarters had been the past couple of days preparing for the upcoming summit, she had expected Cal home late instead.

Leaving her home office, she poked her head out the door and looked down the stairs. "Cal?"

"It's me," she heard his voice call back, as she heard boots hitting the floor, and the sound of a body sagging onto the couch. He sounded exhausted.

She came downstairs. "You're home early."

He looked up at her, and she had a suspicion why. Yes, he looked tired, but he also looked a bit flushed. "I was going to stay later, but that upstart assistant of mine told me if I didn't go home and rest he'd tattle on me to my commanding officer."

Alyse smiled a bit at that as she crossed the room and reached out, feeling Cal's forehead. It was definitely warm. "Tore would tell Franz?" Given the current state of international affairs, Alyse wasn't certain Franz would have sent anyone home, even if they were falling out of their chairs.

"No, he meant you," Cal clarified, with a weak grin. "I think he figured you'd come haul me out of the office by my hair."

"He has a good point." Alyse went to fetch a thermometer. When she returned Cal had gone from sitting up to lying on his back. Miss Whiskers had joined him, sitting on his chest and purring loudly. She stuck the thermometer in his mouth, and picked up his uniform jacket and boots from the floor, putting them properly in their places in the entry. When she returned, she removed the thermometer.

"What's the verdict?" Cal asked, absently stroking the cat's fur.

"It's not a bad fever." Alyse was relieved. "Still, I'm glad you came home. A good night's sleep and a little down time should put you to rights. I'm afraid I don't have anything in for dinner," she admitted. "I've been working all afternoon, and I wasn't expecting you."

"Well, what were you going to eat without me?"

"Probably my leftover smoke-salmon salad from lunch yesterday. There's not enough for two people, though. I suppose we could just order something in. What would you like?"

"Cretan," Cal said with only a moment's thought. "One of those flatbread lamb sandwiches would be amazing."

"Cretan it is." Alyse was grateful that there were so many places that delivered these days. With just the two of them and their schedule, it made life simpler. Even though she didn't do nearly as many big events as she used to, she always had one or two going. Right now, one of those was her daughter's wedding up in North City in just over two months. They were in communication almost every other day, and all of the major plans had already been finalized, but there were always details to be worked on up to the last minute, and questions to be answered. They had booked the venue, a local minister who was also of Drachman descent, mailed invitations to anyone they could get them to—the Drachman family members were problematic only because there was next to no way to get them into the country for the ceremony—and Alyse had already booked the catering, musicians, and she had been up there once to go choose decoratings with Gloria, and see the dress and matching suit that a local designer was custom-making for the bride and groom, as well as the outfits for bride's maids and groomsmen.

For her part, Gloria seemed remarkably calm about the whole thing. Alyse supposed, that after their recent experiences in Drachma, a wedding probably didn't feel very stressful.

Cal dozed off by the time she finished calling in the order, so Alyse finished the last detail of the plans she'd been working on, put on hot water for tea, and fed the cat. It took a minute to lure Miss Whiskers off of Cal, even with the promise of food. She was one of those animals who seemed convinced her mere presence could heal others. Given how much time she'd spent laying on Alyse during the cancer, maybe there was something to that.

When the food arrived, Alyse met the delivery driver at the door, tipped her, and then brought the food over to the coffee table in the living room. There was no reason to be formal tonight.

Cal awoke as she opened the first container. "Smells great."

"I just paid for it," Alyse reminded him with a smile as she set out his sandwich, her sandwich, their side of tabouli, the side salad that always came with the sandwiches, the slices of flat soft bread, cucumber sauce, and the dessert she had ordered to treat them both this evening, which was a batch of their honey-soaked fried dough balls.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate that you know what I like." Cal sat up, his back and knees popping as he stretched, then reached for his food. "It's definitely better than what we've been eating in the mess."

"The mess food isn't terrible. Certainly not compared to what it used to be." Alyse remembered when she first started working at Headquarters, in the department that handled the formal events end of diplomatic relations. "At least now you can find a salad."

"I didn't say they didn't have healthy options," Cal pointed after swallowing a large bite of food. "Just that after a while, the same old repetitive things are not appealing… and less appealing than the ones aimed at people who aren't desk jockeys." His smile slipped.

Alyse knew that face. "Well, you've got clout. You could always put in some kind of order about it couldn't you?"

Cal shrugged. "Suggestion maybe. That's not my department." He went back to eating, and there was clearly something on his mind, but Alyse wasn't going to get it out of him while he was sick and hungry.

So, she waited through dinner, and tea, and dessert. As usual, around the time they got through dessert, Cal seemed more ready to talk. "I'm tired, 'Lyse."

She knew he didn't mean in general. Of course, he was tired with everything they'd been through lately, and even just on a day to day basis since Drachma exploded with their daughter on the other side of the border. His time there hadn't helped either. Ever since he came back, he'd been having nightmares again, sometimes even with his medication. "You've been at this a long time," she acknowledged. "Certainly long enough, and probably longer than some people wish you had, given how hard you make them work." She smiled, slipping one hand over to rest on his on the couch.

He nodded. "I've been thinking that I'm just… I'm done. I thought about it sometimes before, but after Drachma, I just, I don't think I can do this much longer. It was one thing to be sent into combat by my superiors, to fight with my peers. Today's soldiers… I lost my objectivity. Charlie, Roy… the men under my command aren't my friends anymore, they're _our_ children, and I don't think I really considered that until I was sitting there in that tent, waiting to hear if Charlie was going to live. Decades of experience, and nothing I came up with got us _anywhere_ in that damned wasteland."

"You were trying _not_ to start a war while fighting people on their own soil. That would be problematic for any commanding officer," Alyse pointed out. "I'm not even sure Dad or Uncle Ed could have figured out a solution to that one."

"Except that _they_ did," Cal pointed out, looking mildly irritated. "They're the nosiest and luckiest damned men I've ever known. That plane… they were the ones that got it in the first place, and used it to rescue Sara, kill the villain, then rescue the people on the other side of a country _we_ were sent in to rescue."

"As I recall, you were a major component of that rescue."

"I rode in the damned plane and talked to Mihalov. I'd hardly call that being a major part of the rescue."

"You're the commanding officer."

Cal shrugged. "It's funny. Fullmetal and True Soul have been retired for _decades_ and yet they still somehow manage to pull off more heroic rescues than men a quarter their age. Some days I'm not sure it's possible to live up to the epic exploits of the last generation."

Alyse squeezed his hand. "Cal, you're _one_ of those epic legends already, even if you don't see it. You know that no one's going to tell Whitewater stories where you can hear them, but they tell them, all the time."

"How do you know?"

"Because the wedding industry is the best place to get gossip from _everyone._ " Alyse kissed his cheek lightly. "If you're done, then retire. There's no shame in it. Then we could all spend more time together. We have three adorable grandchildren who would love to see more of their grandpa, and there's plenty to do at the country club. You can bum around with Maes Mustang and pretend you two aren't using alchemy to cheat golf balls out of various traps."

Cal snorted. "Golf?"

"Well, maybe some other sport. My point is I doubt you will be bored. Not if you're ready to leave the desk and the work behind. If you won't regret it, then that's when it's the right time."

"Thanks." Cal returned the kiss. "When this mess with Drachma is over, I'll turn in the paperwork. I promise."

Alyse knew full well that Cal had taken the desk jobs in Central for her, and for their family, not because he had ever enjoyed that kind of work. He had climbed the ranks because it gave them a good life, not because he wanted to do anything other than standard alchemist missions. She would never have made him stay in the job if he hated it, but he still sounded like he was thanking her for permission to let it all go, and be free of what was clearly becoming more of a burden with each passing day. "You do whatever you think is best, Cal, and I'll support your decision. Just don't burn yourself out between now and then, all right?"

"I might drown instead of burn, but I'll do my best," Cal quipped. "I leave the heat to Firestorm."

Alyse refrained from groaning even as she shook her head. "Now I know you're not feeling your best. That joke is terrible."

"Are you saying you've learned to appreciate my other humor?"

"Some of it, but don't push your luck."

* * *

Dinner with Alyse and a long, relaxing shower went a long way towards making Cal feel revived. Part of him felt a little guilty for coming home while everyone at Headquarters was scrambling to get everything done for the upcoming summit on top of the everyday missions, training, and all the work that needed doing no matter what else was going on. Still, only part of him felt that way. The rest was too relieved that he didn't have to sit there and feel the pressure of everyone else's stress around him, and his own anxiety building as he became more and more certain that if this summit happened, the chances that they would have to get military involved in quelling Drachma sometime in his lifetime.

The truth was he hadn't told Alyse everything, though he was fairly certain she had guessed the rest of it. After all, she was the one there when he woke her up with his own nightmares, sweating through their bedsheets. She was always there after a long day, with dinner and a patient ear, a sweet smile. Even after all the hardships they had faced, and the rough patches they had been through, _she_ was the rock that held up everything.

It wasn't just that he couldn't see the soldiers as soldiers anymore, men doing their duty with the knowledge that they might not return. There had never been much glory in battle, but he had long ago stopped feeling invincible. That feeling had died the day his leg was blown off, and it had just been reaffirmed in every conflict since then. He'd been certain his life was over with nothing to show for it as he lay on the chill, dead grass of northern Amestris, with Drachman gunfire flying overhead, and his life leaking out through his gut. Never, not once, had he made it through a major military action without injury. While he'd joked that he seemed to be a bullet-sponge, it wasn't far from the truth.

If he'd ever had luck in battle, it had deserted him. If it came to conflict again, he wasn't just afraid that he would die, but that a mistake or a lack of good fortune at the wrong moment, would take all of those promising young men with him. He couldn't let them suffer the way he had suffered.

His only saving grace was the amazing woman downstairs, who had met a broken, jaded, flawed, suffering person, and in her sweet optimism, seen someone worth patching back together. All he could for her in return, was try to come home every day, and minimize her own suffering. Even taking care of her through her cancer didn't feel to him like he'd ever evened that out, and while he knew they weren't keeping score, he knew that he could give her everything, and he would never quite feel like it was enough for everything she gave him.

Still, spending the rest of their years together would have to be enough. If he didn't want to fall apart completely, Cal could see only one solution, and that was retiring while he could retain some of his sanity, and the rest of his body parts. His auto-mail parts weren't the only ones that creaked these days.

Cal stepped out of the shower when he knew he would run out of hot water shortly. Drying off, he pulled on an old comfortable shirt and boxer shorts and went into the bedroom. He wasn't surprised to find Alyse already in bed, reading a book. The cat was sprawled out at the foot of the bed, purring loudly. "Didn't know I'd get to get into bed with _two_ beautiful ladies tonight."

"You won't be if you keep that up." Alyse looked up from her book but there was a glimmer of humor in her eyes.

"Oh, you know Miss Whiskers knows my heart belongs to you." Cal slipped into bed, pulling the covers up and leaning over to kiss Alyse goodnight. "I just wish I had the energy back that up with more than words tonight."

Alyse set the book down. " _You_ need a good night's sleep. If you're still feverish in the morning I'm not letting you go back to work."

"What if Amestris decides to invade the Xerxes ruins or something?" Cal asked, avoiding references to Drachma. Those were too likely at the moment.

"Then they can do it without you, because I refuse to do without you."

"It's nothing serious, 'Lyse," he objected, even as he felt touched by her concern.

"While I'm sure you're probably right, that doesn't keep me from worrying."

"I know." He reached out and gave her hand a brief squeeze. "I promise, if I'm not better in the morning I'll see a doctor, okay?"

"Okay." Alyse snuggled up closer to him. "I just want you around to enjoy your retirement."

"Believe me, beautiful, I want that too, for both of us."


	44. Chapter 44

**August 7** **th** **, 1990**

It took two days to gather enough supplies for a realistic attempt to sneak Mihalov out of the city. Ted tried to convince Mrs. Gurina to come with them, but she refused, saying that as long as there was a Gurina in Karmatsk, the city would never truly belong to anyone else. The townspeople still looked to her for leadership, and she would not abandon them.

Ted did not try to argue her out of it at that point. He understood duty, and being willing to die for people you cared about.

The mission itself was not complicated. Hide Mihalov in the produce, drive out of the city. The challenges came in the details: finding a way to hide an unconscious ailing man that no one would find on a search of the truck, and getting him into the truck without being seen in the first place.

Ted had spent that time researching everything they might need to know, including trying to figure out when the gate guards who had let them in the first night might be back on duty. Thankfully, some of Palov's friends had been keeping quiet tabs on where and when the rounds were for military patrols around town, and it seemed that the guards on duty that Ted had met, were on duty at the gate every night as their assigned post. That would work to their benefit. Friendly soldiers were less likely to search as vigorously, and particularly not when they were leaving the city. As long as they weren't discovered smuggling out critical political figures anyway.

That gave them a time table. Mihalov had regained consciousness the same day as his surgery, and continued to improve slowly. No signs of infection in the wound also provided a sense of hope, and his color had returned. Not that the man was anywhere close to recovery. His body was weak, and this was not the optimal setting for recovery. There was also little in the way of comforts; a cot to lay on, and minimal pain relievers. Ted was impressed that the man never complained beyond the occasional grunt.

It was Anika who came up with the best solution for hiding him in the fruits and vegetables. There were several types of produce crates in the city, and some of them were long enough to hold a man, being almost long narrow pallets more than crates. While it looked to Ted a little bit like a coffin—a disturbing image—if they installed a fake floor in one as a cover, with enough space inside for him to lay flat and still, and still breathe, he only had to remain there for maybe half an hour to get through a search and out of the city. It would be deep enough anyone digging would not find it suspicious, in theory.

It had been easy enough to modify one of the crates that was still in the back of Palov's kitchen. The trick was going to be transferring Mihalov. They would bring the truck around to the store to do all the loading of produce. Since Palov usually came to the grocers to do his shopping on his own, because he preferred to pick his produce for the store, he would have Mihalov in the back of his truck, and they would swap him out while the two were parked in the back, at the first available quiet moment. From there, they would head immediately to the main gates and out of town, taking a route that they hoped would minimize being stopped and searched before they got to the main gates.

As much as Ted wished they were planning a daring raid on the estate to rescue the captives and blow a massive hole in Savahin's temporary victory, he knew that this was more important. Besides, that attack would draw more attention and trouble for the people who lived in Karmatsk, and that was the last thing they needed.  
When they finally left their hotel in the late afternoon with the truck, Ted could only hope they had thought of every contingency, and that the plan would work. He did his best not to look concerned or suspicious as he made his way over to the grocers. No one on patrol stopped them today, but that might have been because they recognized them now. Ted was counting on that to help them get back out of the city.

Beside him, Anika looked calm as ever, as if she were just a farm wife in town with her husband. Ted knew better. That casual watching of the shop windows was calculated scanning for signs of danger. She wasn't missing a thing and if he asked, she could probably tell him what every person they had passed was wearing, their general age, and if anyone was watching _them._ Not that he needed to ask. They had already arranged signals that no one would see, or find unusual. If someone was actively watching them, she would reach out and put her hand on his leg. If they followed, she would tap her fingers. If she spotted immediate danger, like visible weapons, she would squeeze his leg.

None of those signals proved necessary on the trip there. They pulled into the alley behind the grocers for loading without incident. Palov's truck was already there, and he was already supervising the inventory of his own new purchases on the dock, right on schedule.

Ted and Anika's order was also sitting on the docks, ready to go. As planned, they and Palov had each ordered one large crate of the same things, so that swapping theirs out for the one with Mihalov hidden away in the bottom would be easier.

They pretended to be passingly acquainted but not too friendly. Anyone who had followed them would have known they had eaten at his restaurant, and spent some time there. Even though Ted suspected the grocer himself was not a Savahin sympathizer, that didn't mean they should give anything away. Someone else might be watching or listening.

:Here, I'll help you with that,: Palov said as they went to move the crates. :Your lady shouldn't be lifting anything this heavy.:

Normally, Anika would have been irritated, but this was part of the ruse, even if it was also true that she was not medically permitted to lift fifty pounds of fruit stacked on top of a two-hundred pound man. She stood back out of the way as Ted and Palov moved one of the crates toward Palov's truck, then swapped and moved the special one into Ted and Anika's truck back. Then they quickly slid the other three in, so that Mihalov's crate was farthest in the back of the covered truck bed, near the front cab, where it would be the most difficult to search, but also the warmest and least-bumpy possible ride.

Then Ted helped Palov with the rest of his loading in thanks, they shook hands, and Ted and Anika climbed back in the truck. The first step successful, they just needed to make it out of the city.

Ted would have almost felt better if they had been stopped, because by the time they neared the gates he felt as if they were being set up. Everything was moving too smoothly. In the back, Mihalov was awake. Putting him right up near the cab made communication possible.

:How's the ride?: Anika asked Mihalov quietly as they neared the gates.

:Uncomfortable,: the man in back replied, :But not as bad as expected. My aunt did an excellent job padding this thing. Though the smell is making me hungry.:

:When we get out of the city and can let you out, you're welcome to all the fresh produce you can eat,: Ted promised. :We're nearing the gates. Time to do your best impression of an onion.:

:I think I'm under the turnips.:

:Then be a turnip.:

Then they were at the gate, in a short line of vehicles, though all three of the ones in front of them appeared to be military. Ted took it as promising that the guards were making inspections of even the military vehicles leaving the city. It meant that they weren't trusting anyone, which would make searching them part of the routine. It might also mean they were getting bored with searching vehicles.

He waited patiently until they were the front of the line. The guards looked into the cab and recognized him, because their eyes lit up.

:Heading home?: the first guard asked as the second went around the back.

Ted nodded and offered a smile, with just enough nerves visible to show he still respected the military, on the level a farmer would. :Yep. Got enough supplies to last us a couple of months. Leastwise til its time for the baby. We'll be back for that. Better in a hospital.:

The soldier nodded. :Smart precaution. Standard inspection. I need to see your IDs, and we need to check your entire vehicle again.:

:Of course,: Ted nodded agreeably as he and Anika both got out of the cab. The soldier inspected the cab and made Anika and Ted turn out their pockets and take off their coats for searching. The other soldier was in the back. Ted could hear him crawling and banging around, clearly attempting to look through all four crates of produce and other food goods which took up the entire back. Which was why they had gotten exactly as much as they had. When they got out of here, the hideout was going to eat well.  
This was the moment of truth. Ted willed himself to remain in the character of the sympathizer-farmer, concerned only over his own well behind and his family.  
The other soldier returned and shook his head.

:Well, looks like you're clear. We'll see you when you come back.:

:Thank you, Sir.: Ted nodded respectfully, and he and Anika both got back in the cab, pulling through as soon as the gates were opened for them.

Ted still felt like he was waiting for a bullet in the back for several minutes after they left the gates. He drove steadily until they were out of sight of the city, then turned off onto the side road that did lead up to several farms, which they had chosen as the meeting place to catch up with Niki. The word had gone out to the resistance that Mihalov was alive, but one of the downsides to being inside Karmatsk, had been that the city's television, phone, and regular radio communications had been temporarily cut off by the military. Ted and Anika had no idea how far that news had traveled, or what Savahin had declared at the end of his three-day period or who, if anyone, had given up and turned themselves over.

This civil war might already be over, at least for the time being, and they had no way of knowing until they talked to someone with more information.

That someone was Niki, who was sitting at the pull-over spot along the road where he had promised to be, leaning on his car.

Ted pulled in behind him, and stopped the truck. :I can't believe we pulled that off.:

Anika leaned over and kissed his cheek, before unbuckling, and grabbing the medical supplies they had packed. All of which would be perfectly reasonable for a family expecting a child to have, or living up on a farm several hours from town. The fact that they were mostly for Mihalov was not something they had told the guards.

Niki met her at the door, hugging his sister tightly. :How did it go?: he asked.

:Almost perfectly,: Anika replied. :Come see for yourself.:

The three of them hurried around back, and shifted the large crates so that they could slide one out, and turn the others sideways, making a walkway straight back to the turnips and cabbages. :Mr. Mihalov?: Anika called out as Ted climbed in first with the medical kit.

:Still here,: Mihalov replied. :Are we clear?:

:Yes, Sir,: Ted replied. He heard Niki climb up behind him. It would take the two of them to remove the clever in-set in the crate full of vegetables. At Anika's insistence, Ted had transmuted it so that it was a separate smaller crate that would lift in and out of the larger one, allowing for faster hiding and uncovering in case of emergencies.  
So Ted and Niki had little trouble in flipping the hidden latches, and then hefting the top piece off. They put it on the floor out of the way, and Ted saw a look of incredible relief on the face of the man underneath.

:I have never wanted to know what it was like to be in a coffin. That is definitely the closest I'd like to get for a while if possible,: Mihalov commented wryly as he sat up slowly. :Though I am grateful you didn't put me in the onions.:

:No one deserves that,: Niki commented as he steadied Mihalov. :Well, except maybe my younger brother.:

Ted stifled a snort of laughter. :We're safe here for now,: he assured the older man. The pull-off had a screen of trees, and he did not expect anyone else on the road anytime soon this late in the day. :We'd like to check your wounds before we move on for the night.:

:I'd like to eat, and take care of a few other things as well,: Mihalov agreed. Niki helped him to his feet, and they all exited the back of the truck.

For the next few minutes, no one said very much as Mihalov was helped behind a tree, and then after, as Anika checked his bandages. It would be a few hours before he needed medications. During that time, Niki chopped up some of the vegetables and fruit and they all had a fast, cold, but incredibly healthy lunch.

:So, where are we going from here?: Mihalov asked as he finished off the canteen of water Niki had given him.

:Yes, that's what I'd like to know.: Ted looked at Niki. :What do we know?:

Niki's brow furrowed. :Right now, there are three options, depending on how far we get without discovery or capture. As long as you're not in his hands, Mr. Mihalov, Savahin's not going to give up searching.:

:What happened on the third day?: Anika pressed her brother.

:A lot,: Niki replied grimly. :I got the news out of your survival, and we spread it as far as we could.:

:Did anyone turn themselves in?:

:Some. There were smaller, isolated groups we couldn't contact, or who were working independently. They gave up. Though the main body of the resistance movement continues.: Niki sipped from his own canteen. :Savahin was not happy. He called out several people _by name_ for not turning themselves in, including Dad.:

Ted winced. :What did he do with the people he captured in Karmatsk?:

:He… had them executed… live, on the television and radio.:

Anika blanched.

Ted cringed. _Damned it._ They hadn't even heard shots in the city. That meant it had probably happened inside the house. :All of them?:

Niki nodded. :I didn't see the footage, but I listened to it on the car radio, and got confirmation from base afterwards. They're all dead. Worst part is, he still didn't give all the names, so if people didn't recognize their representatives by face, it's still not clear who all is dead and who might still be in captivity. The news that you, and the people who were hiding with you, are alive, is only known to a small portion of the population.:

Mihalov had gone very still as Niki talked. :These two tell me that the remaining resistance would still support me if I stepped up as a figurehead for this whole mess. Is that true?: he looked sharply at Niki.

He nodded. :Yes, sir. Dad—General Marskaya—isn't the only member of the Drachman military or government who has joined up in continuing to resist. They aren't even the only ones supporting us. There's still support within the current administration. Those who are pretending to go along with him, not only because it is expedient, but because they can supply us information, like the location of the zoo auction.:

:Do you know where they're taking them?: Anika's whole attention had riveted on her brother at those words.

:Zoo auction?: Mihalov looked between them.

:Savahin is auctioning off all of the animals from the Petrayveka National Zoo,: Ted explained.

:He's declared them a drain on natural funds and any that aren't bought will be killed,: Niki finished. :And yes, we know where they are taking them. They're going to the sight of the old Imperial Circus' winter home in Novorya. They should be arriving today if they are on schedule, and the auction starts on the ninth.:

Which gave them less than two days. :Where is Novorya?: Ted asked. As long as he'd been here, he hadn't learned all of the small towns and cities in Drachma, just the ones near the hideout, where they had travelled, and where the ones were that had resistance groups, as well as the other cities, even though Petrayevka remained by far the largest, being almost three times the size of Central.

:It's only a few hours south-east of here,: Anika replied with an eager glint in her eye. :Novorya is only a couple of hours from the Eastern Desert. The old circus wintered there because it was a good climate for their more exotic non-Drachman animals, and no one would bother them. Also, the land out there is cheap because it's terrible for farming.:

:It's too late for us to intercept the caravan of trucks hauling animals,: Niki pointed out, :But if they are just settling in, there may be opportunities to sneak in.:

:It's also a direction that anyone looking for Mihalov won't be expecting,: Ted acknowledged. Going straight back to any of their hideouts would be incredibly risky if anyone from the city were interrogated or tortured into giving up information. Getting out of the area quickly was necessary, however.

:That may be, but I have two things to say,: Mihalov cut in to the conversation. :The first, is stop calling me by my last name. It'll be a dead giveaway if you accidentally use it in front of someone. Just call me Gavril. There are hundreds of Gavrils. Second, will someone please explain to me _why_ we are talking about trying to break into an exotic animal auction? While I agree that it's a terrible thing to do, I'm missing something about why this is a priority.:

Ted opened his mouth to explain but Niki cut him off with a raised hand. :I'll explain. There are several reasons. The first, is that there are also people being forced to do the work of moving the animals to this location, zoo employees who are loyal to our cause, and the government that supported their work. Secondly, this is a very unpopular move among the citizens. People love animals, and they love going to the zoo. They don't see this as a good way for the government to save money; they see it as cruel. So, if we can save some of those animals, it's not only better for the animals, and the people, but it makes the resistance look good.: He sat forward. :And thirdly, if we don't save her cat, my sister here is probably going to have a fit.:

Gavril Mihalov looked at Anika. :Your cat?:

Anika nodded. :Myrda, the white tiger. I raised her from a kitten when I worked at the zoo. I'm not about to let them sell her off to some would-be trophy hunter. Best scenario she's caged as an exotic pet.:

Worse case, they all knew she'd be a decoration on someone's floor or wall.

Gavril nodded. :I understand. My daughter loves the zoo, and the tiger. It does seem like a less likely direction for us to take. Is there actually a _plan_ or are you winging this?:

:We have the bones of a plan,: Niki assured them all. :If we go to Novorya, especially with Anika with us, we should be able to convince the zoo employees to help us make an escape. They have the trucks, and it seems unlikely that by the time we arrive everything will have been unloaded. While the convoy has military escort, there aren't nearly as many soldiers as were sent to Karmatsk, and another unit of resistance fighters is already en route to do just that. The plan is to escape out into the desert. There are several roads we can take, and they are unlikely to follow us interminably. Even if they want the money from the animals, they can't risk members of the military crossing the no-military zone between Drachma and Xing.:

Ted had never seen the Eastern Desert this far north. All he knew was that the long expanse was rockier and hillier this far north, and colder. In the winter, it still snowed. The only difference was the lack of moisture meant there wasn't nearly as much. Here in the late summer, there wasn't any, and it was warmer than the rest of the country.  
:Risky, but not impossible,: Gavril nodded. :Not that I will be much use. Still, I can shoot a gun. I'd be more useful if you could find a way to disguise me so I don't have to spend most of this trip hiding in produce.:

:That, I can do,: Ted smiled. :You were too weak before, and not really conscious enough to ask permission. With a little alchemy, I can dye your hair in a way that will look completely natural. While I can't change your features, I can also encourage hair growth. How do you feel about a beard?:

Gavril stroked his bare chin with one hand. :Just don't make me look like a wild bear and I think I could be good with just about anything.:

* * *

Somehow a nice herbal tea just wasn't a functional substitute for coffee, and Franz wasn't sure it ever would be. Still, it was the only thing anyone would let him have if he wanted something hot, so it was what he had to live with.

Five days since the ultimatum, and not even two full days since Savahin had ordered a mass execution of the captured former members of the Drachman government, effectively ending the Karmatsk government-in-exile, and the world was in chaos. Or at least, his world, because Franz was fully aware that for the average Amestrian, life was going on pretty much entirely as normal, if a bit on edge. Oh, there was concern over what they were hearing on the news, but most of them didn't seem to think Drachma would be coming over the border. They had closed it after all, hadn't they? As long as the government kept telling them Amestris was not involved, and the border was secure, the problems were a distant thing, far away on the other side of the mountains. Karmatsk itself was so far it might as well be on another continent.

"Where do we sit with the agenda for the summit?" he asked the men and woman sitting around his conference table.

Across the table, Tore Closson looked at the thick sheaf of papers in his hands. "All of the representatives of the invited governments will be here by the fifteenth. Aerugo, being the closest, will be arriving first, on the tenth. Creta's transportation schedule has them arriving on the twelfth, with the Kartosian representative on the thirteenth. Xing's representatives have the longest journey, as usual, and will be arriving late the evening of the fourteenth with Renxiang Xian Elric as their personal escort. Their ambassadors have everything in order at the embassies, and everyone understands the need for haste, and a lack of fanfare. The initial meeting is scheduled for nine in the morning on the fifteenth, and we have arranged for a private breakfast to be served during the meeting, so that everyone can get straight to business."

Franz nodded approvingly. The staggered arrivals actually worked in their favor for keeping the situation quiet. "How are things at the Drachman embassy?"

"They continue to be quiet and agreeable," Tore continued. "Everything they've been willing to tell us checks out with intelligence, and none of them appear to have any ties to Savahin's group. They're still nervous about what we intend to do with them, so I think they'll be amenable to pretty much any terms we offer them, and to provide any and all information they have at their disposal."

"Good, good." Franz nodded.

"Do they _have_ any information at their disposal?" General Mila Harkis, in charge of the Military's Financial and Budgetary offices asked skeptically.

"It's worth seeing what they offer," Franz pointed out. "If it continues to at least match what we do know, than we might be able to trust other parts. We know they aren't able to communicate with Drachma currently, so we weren't looking to them for current information anyway. We're getting all of that from Intelligence."

The Intelligence director nodded. "Which leads me to a very important piece of information, Sir, if I may."

"Please."

He looked a bit eager. Of course, Colonel Patisse had only been promoted to the head of that department a few months ago, though he had been in intelligence and investigations both for only two years longer than Franz's own son. "We got a confirmation on the most recent piece of information traveling through the Drachman resistance movement and our intelligence channels, which is that Gavril Mihalov has been confirmed alive." A couple of people around the room sucked in air. "Resistance operatives reported this from _inside_ Karmatsk. He was injured escaping the military when they broke into the city, but managed to hide somewhere and receive treatment. That's all we know."

"It explains why Savahin hasn't released a list of names of who was captured and executed," Cal Fischer pointed out. "It leaves things in question. Even if different people recognized every face from a distance on that television shot, not everyone will. How many resistance cells folded after the execution?"

"So far, three," Patisse continued. "All smaller, isolated groups in small towns without many resources. Not the larger network we have contact with, so they seem to be uncompromised for now. We don't know where all, or even most, of their bases are, just that they exist. They've been doing an excellent job of keeping hidden and isolated physically, while keeping in communication's contact. No one location seems to know where more than two others are."

"So how many do we know the locations of?" Franz asked.

"Given where our operatives are currently placed, we know the rough locations of six, but of the existence of at least thirteen posts overall throughout the country, most of them in the Central and Eastern parts of the country."

"How many are out West?" Sara spoke up for the first time that morning.

Patisse glanced at his notes. "Only two. They're strangely isolated, and don't seem to be anywhere near actual towns or cities."

"Could you pinpoint their general locations on a map?"

"I believe so, though we'd need to do it in my office."

"I'd like to look at that later." Sara sat back, going quiet once more. Franz had noticed that she tried very hard not to jump in on everything, even when it was clear from her expression, she had plenty she might want to say. When he'd asked about it, she told him she was doing her best not to step on anyone's toes as she eased back into work as an authority. She needed to earn the respect and trust of the newer officers, and the ones who hadn't worked with her closely.

Franz definitely wanted to ask her what that was about, but if she had felt it important to say more now, she would have. "Let's continue. Is there anything more to your report, Colonel?"

Patisse shook his head. "That's it for now, Sir. I'll have a copy of the report sent to your desk." There was a look in his eye that said that wasn't quite the case, but it was definitely everything he was going to say in a meeting.

They went through the rest of the agenda, which mostly consisted of quiet, private greetings, and the schedule for the rest of the first full day of meetings. From there, it would depend on how the first went how things progressed and at what schedule. They weren't even announcing to anyone outside of the military itself and the very upper-most members of the Assembly that this event was occurring. Not that Franz thought it wouldn't get out, but keeping it quiet would hopefully keep the media out of it, and more importantly, it would keep Savahin in the dark about the fact the other countries were going to be in talks, for as long as they could keep him from knowing.

When the meeting ended, he went back to his office long enough to find that the report in question was on his desk, with a small addendum note in an envelope included. This was not part of the official report. Franz slipped it into the pocket of his jacket before stepping back out into the office to find Sara waiting for him.

Finally, they could go home for dinner.

"You look rather glowing this afternoon," Franz commented as they walked down the hall on the way to the car.

Sara chuckled. "Well I _did_ shower an hour ago. Trisha and I gave an alchemy combat demonstration this afternoon. I thought it best I not show up to the meeting dripping with sweat."

"A reasonable assumption. Who won?" he asked curiously.

"It was a draw," Sara admitted, though she looked inordinately pleased. "I _am_ out of practice."

"I suspect that means you'll beat her next time."

"Maybe. Trisha's gotten incredibly good in the past few years."

"Better than you?"

"Right now yes. At my best," Sara shrugged. "Possibly. We would both have to go full-out to know, and we can't really do that on the grounds. We would destroy things."

Franz smiled. "I've seen your alchemy in action, but I seriously doubt you'd destroy all of Headquarters."

"Don't believe me do you?" Sara didn't sound offended, but she looked amused by his skepticism. "Well then, maybe I should spin up a tornado in the middle of Central HQ to demonstrate."

"No, no, I don't think that will be necessary," Franz replied quickly. "Though is that even possible for an alchemist? I mean, that's a lot of power and very fine control not to have it go off and destroy everyone around you, isn't it?"

"To be honest, I don't know yet if one alchemist could handle it," Sara admitted as they went down the stairs. "It would probably be better with a couple of very well-trained alchemists who are used to working as a team, transmuting together. From a power and control standpoint it would probably be on par with Flame's Wall."

Franz shuddered. He remembered only too well the destruction and power of the fire that Roy Mustang had called up that had demolished the Drachman line and ended the war. With his death, it had raged out of control, devouring the valley, and Franz had only made it out alive because he had been fortunate enough to find a pond wide and deep enough to protect him from the heat and flames. He'd been half-drowned before it was over. "Then maybe it's better never to try that kind of thing."

"The gains would definitely have to outweigh the risks to even consider it." Sara's expression was thoughtful.

As they reached the car, Franz shifted subjects. "So, what was it you wanted Patisse to show you on the map?"

Sara got in as he held open the door. "Most of Western Drachma is that huge mountain range, with a few valleys where rivers have cut down through them. Even more so than where the old alchemist hideouts Dad raided were. Deep in the mountains, there are only a very few hardy towns, and large tracks of land that belongs to old noble families but while there are estates, they're generally not occupied a large portion of the time. The majority of Drachma's population is to the center, the Eastern mountains, and along the southern borders. That north and central-west mountain area is worthless except for the mining towns."

"Then why would there even be resistance pockets out there?" Franz definitely found that puzzling. He closed the door and went around, getting in on the driver's side.

"The area is so desolate and remote; it's also where all of the prisons are where they sent people to forget about them."

Franz was glad he hadn't put the car in drive yet, because her words caught him up short. "You think the _prisons_ are resisting?"

"I'm not sure," she said as he finished putting on his seat belt. "I need to see his maps. I never saw a map while I was _in_ Drachma, but when you're someplace long enough, you hear people talk, even the guards. You learn where the nearest towns are, and what people do for fun. When I got back I looked at maps, and figured out the rough location for every prison I was held in." Including the secluded estate that had been more of a gilded cage.

"I didn't realize that."

"Well, it was only personal curiosity. I didn't realize how relevant it might become." Sara reached out, squeezing his leg gently with one hand. "What it tells me is if they _are_ resisting out there, is that either the prison guards aren't siding with Savahin and his people, or the prisoners have managed to riot and take over the prisons."

Clearly Sara saw this as very relevant to the situation. "Does that help us?" Franz finally asked, not sure how to make the connection.

"In either case, it might. Those prisons held _thousands_ of prisoners, many of them arrested on charges invented to get political rivals or people that certain other people disliked _out of the way._ Some of them were locked up for life for what amounted to embezzlement and fraud, or extreme debt. Life sentences for crimes that would have been maybe a few years anywhere else, or less. Oh, sure, there were more serious criminals, but those were largely locked up in solitary, or in other prison buildings entirely. It seems that Drachma's history involves keeping a hold of enemies for use as hostages or to some other leverage and advantage far more than Savahin's preference for slaughtering them." Her voice became more impassioned as she spoke. "Only the truly abhorrent got the death penalty. Most of the people in those prisons have given up on ever seeing anything else, or being anywhere else. If someone offered them _lives_ and their freedom in return for their support, they might find themselves with a formidable little army. Not trained, but definitely willing, and in the mountains well… they could hold off an army as narrow as the passes are. If they wanted to break off from the rest of Drachma, they could do it. Especially if the few Western garrisons went with them. Not that they would have much industry to speak of outside of raw materials, but they could survive for quite some time."

"Fascinating." Franz had never really given the regionalism of Drachma much thought, but Sara and that afternoon's brief conversation had brought a lot of things to light he hadn't considered. "Would other segments of Drachma do that? I mean, if they could push Savahin-followers out, would they carve out their own pieces of Drachma?"

"They might. Like Amestris, Drachma grew into what it is by conquering and claiming smaller regions, and it just kept extending until it owned everything they could control to have all the resources they wanted."

"Do you know how many countries or peoples they swallowed doing so?"

"Dozens, in the beginning. Drachma started expanding hundreds of years ago." Sara pushed a stay hair out of her face. It was just long enough to tuck behind her ear. "So did the other countries it eventually became part of. A couple hundred years ago, there were seven smaller countries in that area, that are now basically the provinces of Drachma. That whole barren, mountainous expanse to the north-west and straight west was one of them. South of that, down to the Amestrian border as we know it today and over nearly to Briggs. There was another southern country that extended from there to the desert. The other three spread out fairly equally up and around, with the most prosperous being the valley region in the middle where Petrayevka is now. It's the widest, most fertile plain in the country. Everything else is mountains and foothills steep enough they might as well be mountains. That's why Petrayevka has always been the capitol, and the single largest city by so much."

"Would any of those areas breaking off weaken Savahin's hold on the country?" Franz would take just about anything that would as a blessing, but if the areas weren't useful to him, than Savahin might not care.

"There are two that would do so dramatically even though he hasn't had to do much fighting in them so far, and those are the two Western provinces," Sara nodded. "The big one we just discussed, and the south-western corner that borders Kartos, Creta, and part of our border. _That_ is where Drachma has traditionally always tried to push through Kartos to get a proper border, however narrow, on the ocean for shipping. There isn't a single good location for a port anywhere else on their Western border because of the mountain formations there. If those two areas cut them off, Savahin would have no hope of a seaport, and he would lose over a third of Drachma's land mass, and several important mines for metals, coal, and gemstones. While their land is terrible for farming in the north, they could then make trade agreements with other countries for their goods instead."

"Countries like us."

"If they managed to gain sovereignty, they wouldn't be Drachma at all, and no previous alliances would be compromised."

It was a lot to think over, and a lot of maybes. Most likely it would never happen. Despite all its internal affairs, Drachma had never split. Still, even if they couldn't get involved directly, there might be a way to nudge things in that direction. A broken-up Drachma was a less powerful neighbor and far less likely to cause trouble to Amestris. "It almost gives me hope," he admitted.

"I feel the same way. What I wouldn't give to see the common people of Drachma yank the rug out from under this dictator and his minions. Nothing they stand for is anything any good person should want any part of. They aren't really for the people. They're for themselves." If she had been a lesser person, Franz suspected she would have spat.

"That seems to be a common theme with coups we keep getting involved with."

When they arrived home, the house was quiet. James and Krista were out having dinner with friends who had a little girl Aithne's age, which meant the two of them were on their own for dinner.

They both changed out of uniform, and took the time to quietly prepare dinner together. As a rule, they had started trying not to talk about work _during_ the meal. It was more enjoyable that way, and less stressful. So, it wasn't until after dinner that Franz remembered the envelope tucked away in his jacket pocket and retrieved it.

"What's that?"

"Not sure. Something Patisse left me with his report." Franz picked up a letter opener and slit open the envelope. He pulled out the page, scanned it, and almost fell over in surprise, steadying himself with one hand on the back of the couch.

"Franz?" Sara appeared next to him.

"While they can't get a confirmation, intelligence reports that, based on reports from some of Savahin's military soldiers at sites that have been raided… that one of the intelligence teams sounds like they have an alchemist. There are things the soldiers can't explain but…" he just handed her the paper.

Sara read it over, and her brow creased. "That sounds like Ted."

Franz nodded. "It does." It was both a relief, and concerning. The first, because it meant that, at least at the time of those incidents—all of which were weeks old—Ted had been alive. His concern came from the fact that if intelligence had that information, the Drachman military might put it together as well. He could only hope they would presume it was one of the few who actually lived in Drachma. "He must have found his girl." Otherwise, Franz wanted to think the younger man would have found a way to come home, or found a way to get them a message.

Unless this was the message. He was alive, and he was fighting with the resistance.

"If it is him, then at least we know he's doing all right." Sara's hand came to rest on his shoulder, rubbing it calmingly. "I know _I'd_ like to be giving Savahin's men hell."

Franz took a slow, deep breath. "Knowing the right thing to do used to seem so much easier. Now, I'm not even sure things I wouldn't take back for the world were the right decisions."

Sara leaned against him. "It's not a matter of right decisions, or wrong decisions, or even decisions made with information you should or should not have been able to find. We all make choices based on whatever knowledge we have at the time, or in the heat of the moment, and we move on. If you hadn't gotten involved in the Xing coup, the Hashman Syndicate would still be murdering alchemists, and Savahin would definitely have planes, and more of them, at his disposal. Destroying the Syndicate caused major set-backs for those who wanted to overthrow the government. If you hadn't done that, it all would have happened sooner. I might have been brought out as a hostage sooner, or they might have just left me to rot. Or I could be dead. If you hadn't shot Valhov, Savahin and his supporters would probably have done it anyway. If they hadn't, the fighting might be over, but we'd have an organized Drachman government with whom we have no alliances or assurances already consolidated on our northern border. Good, bad, right, wrong, none of it matters. It is very probable that this _is_ the best-case scenario that was going to come out of this whole mess, and in the end, it will turn out all right for us. Just, please, don't beat yourself up over the past…or the present for that matter. Eventually, what we need to do will become clear, and we'll act."

Franz let himself find solace just in the feel of her presence, and the warmth of her body even through their clothes. "You're right. This may look like a stalemate, but we're only seeing part of the picture. If Mihalov is alive, and most of the resistance is still fighting for a Drachma that we were once allied with, then this isn't done yet, no matter what kind of airs Savahin puts on."

"That's better." Sara shifted, and he felt her kiss the side of his cheek. "Now let's go curl up and get some rest. I have a feeling in a few days we're going to really miss sleep, and if you don't get yours, I will never forgive you."

She'd been fierce about that ever since he'd arrived in Resembool for his recovery. There was _no_ arguing. What Sara said went when it came to her making sure he took care of himself, and he knew better than to make her mad.

He turned, catching her hand in his. "Well, I can't have that. It would crush my soul if you never forgave me."


	45. Chapter 45

**August 8** **th** **, 1990**

The next time she decided she needed to pull some kind of crazy daring escape plan full of sneaking, crawling around, and squeezing into small hiding places, it would probably be wiser _not_ to try do those things while heavily pregnant, Anika thought to herself as she crouched behind the tires of one of the large zoo animal transport vehicles. Ahead of her, Ted was crouched behind the next set of tires. Niki had gone around to the north. Gavril had been left with the truck. Weak as he was, he was in good enough condition that, in an emergency, he could at the very least drive it away.

Getting in to the winter home of the old Imperial Circus had been surprisingly uncomplicated. Apparently relying on the extreme remoteness of the location, and only one road running through it, there was less security than Anika had anticipated. The small town had been mostly abandoned for at least a decade, since the circus had closed, and so the one small strip of buildings on the way in were mostly closed and boarded up, with the exception of the local tavern and the hotel. Anika suspected they had re-opened that just to give the soldiers something to _do_ at night, and in preparation for the guests coming in for the auction. Those two locations were lit up brightly, and they had managed to avoid the strip easily enough.

The buildings that belonged to the circus consisted of two small, dorm-style apartment buildings for the circus performers, one slightly nicer house that had belonged to the ringmaster, large supply buildings, and two large barns that they surmised were used for carnivorous animals, and the herbivores, like the pair of Xingese Elephants that had been one of their star attractions.

Lights were on in the dormitory buildings as well. One of them was mostly lit, implying that was where the soldiers were barracked. The other had only a few, and guards at the doors. That, Ted had identified as the building where the zoo staff that had been brought to care for the animals were probably being kept.

Unfortunately, the chances of rescuing everyone, and every animal, were slim. The other team her father had sent this way had been delayed by running into unexpected troops in the village of Libon.

They had already identified that most of the largest animals had been taken out of their trucks, and put in pens. Loading them would take more time than they had. More fortunate, was the number of animals still kept stacked in cages in their vehicles. The animals could be _heard_ inside their vehicles, and Anika had already identified which one held the cats, the canines, and the birds—that one was particularly loud. There was a fourth one that held only bears, of which the zoo only had five, but they took up a lot of space. Still, that particular truck was a bit smaller than the other three. Anika hoped they could manage to free enough staff members to at least make off with any carrier that still had animals. They could rescue a decent portion of the zoo that way. Since food for the animals was stored in special compartments in each truck, they would be able to take care of them for several days at least. Or so Anika hoped.

They had arrived after the dinner hour for people, which explained the revelry in town. The lights in one of the barns had given Anika hope that some of the zoo staff were bedding animals down for the night. The fact that the backs of two trucks were open had only encouraged her.

Now she just had to hope that no one panicked, and they could manage to get back out again with, at the very worst, the people with whom they had come in.

Taking a deep breath, Anika stood up, stepped around to the back ramp, and called quietly up. :Mrs. Volkova, are you there? It's Anika.:

She had seen the woman go in, so she hoped the familiar voice would keep her from reacting badly.

After several seconds of quiet, she heard footsteps, and backlit by the truck's interior ceiling lights, Mrs. Volkova stood at the top of the ramp, staring down at her. She

gestured frantically, and Anika followed, hurrying up the ramp into the truck.

Once there, Mrs. Volkova almost dragged her behind a large crate of exotic birds. Their squawking would almost guarantee they weren't overheard. Niki and Ted guarding from underneath and outside would make sure they weren't caught unawares.

:Anika, what are you doing here?: Mrs. Volkova asked in a scolding tone. :How did you even find us?:

:I've been working with my father and the resistance,: Anika explained quickly. :We got word of where they were taking everyone. So we came to rescue as many as we could.:

:We?:

:A small team. We're here and we have a route out, but only if we can get people to drive some of these trucks. There's minimal security at the moment and we have a sniper ready to take out the back gate guards if needed. Who can we get to? Who else isn't currently under guard?:

Mrs. Volkova stopped asking questions. :Fyo and Liena are in the large building. Potyr is in the other truck. They won't let more than four of us out here at a time for any care outside of primary feedings, and those are done under full military guard.:

Fyo and Liena. Anika knew them both well. They had studied together, in different years, at the same school for their zoological training. Potyr was a middle-aged man who had worked at the zoo almost as long as Mrs. Volkova. :Then four is what we get. We need to get them, and we need to leave while things are loud enough in town and in the barracks that they might not hear us starting up the trucks, or realize what's going on until its too late.:

Mrs. Volkova nodded. :There's only one problem. Can anyone on your team hot-wire a vehicle? We aren't allowed access to the keys.:

Anika nodded. :We do. Go get the others, we'll handle the trucks.:

Mrs. Volkova strolled out the door of the truck, moving at a normal, if business-like pace as she went to the next truck.

Anika waited a minute, then hurried back down the ramp.

Ted was waiting for her. :Do we have drivers?:

Anika nodded. :Four. You'll need to get the trucks going, like we discussed.: Their forethought seemed to be holding up. They hadn't expected anyone outside of military personnel to have the keys to vehicles. Thankfully, Ted could hotwire just about anything with a little alchemy.

Ted started moving towards the front of that first truck. :I radioed Niki and Gavril. They'll wait for us to get out the gate, in case Niki needs to take out anybody. Then Gavril will pick him up. We're not to stop driving until we hit the first major outcropping forty miles out.:

:Good. We probably have five minutes at most before security realizes that everything is _not_ going their way.:

She must have sounded anxious, because Ted paused and looked back, clearly concerned. :Are you doing okay?:

:I'm fine. Just get going.:

He didn't hesitate, thankfully, but kept going, using alchemy to pop the door just as Mrs. Volkova came back with the rest of them.

:Anika!: Liena gaped in surprise, springing forward, though she gasped when they hugged. Even in the near-dark, she could see her friend's eyes widened. :Are you—:

:We can talk about it later.: Anika cut her off. :, get to the canines truck and get ready to drive like you're late to an _Ice Grizzlies_ concert and we're on the interstate.:  
Liena nodded, and hurried off.

:Mrs. Volkova, drive the birds. Potyr, bears. Fyo, you're driving cats.:

:What about you and…whoever is with you?: Mrs. Volkova asked.

:I'll be riding with Fyo. Ted will ride with you, Mrs. Volkova.: She took a deep breath. :I'm sorry we can't take more people…or animals. We couldn't bring enough of a team.: If only the rest had made it.

:Apologize later,: Fyo suggested with his usual lopsided grin. :When we can talk about how amazing it is that this is evening happening.: He turned and hurried off, following her orders.

They scattered as the sound of the first truck starting rumbled into the night.

The clock starts now. Anika, rifle still slung on her back, hurried after Fyo, arriving just as Ted got that truck going as well. She hopped up into the passenger seat, bringing her rifle around as she did so.

Fyo eyed her as she belted in.

Anika glared at him. :One word and I shoot you first.:

That earned her another grin. :I _was_ going to say I feel better knowing you've got that thing.:

:Yeah well, don't mess up my aim with your driving.: She pulled the radio out of her pocket. :Vixen to Fox. Are we go?:

:Fox here. Follow us.:

The first truck started to move, and that was when the first gunshot plinked off the thick metal armoring on the back corner of the truck. :Drive!:

:Yes, ma'am!: Fyo jerked the stick, shifted the truck into drive, and pulled out as quickly as the cages in the back would allow. Anika was grateful they were securely attached and weighted. She just hoped they could move fast enough to get away.

* * *

Ted managed to brace himself in the seat with barely enough time as Mrs. Volkova drove the first truck directly through the chain-link fence gate blocking their way out of the circus compound. Both guards fired, but their shots missed, plinking off metal as the truck zoomed by at well over safe regulated speeds.

There was only one road ahead of them, and that was the dirt one that headed out and then cut south along the edge of the desert. Ted knew that eventually it split, with one route going out into the desert itself, and one continuing along the ridge-line of the foothills. That was where they would break east, into the desert. He only hoped they made it that far, and that the soldiers gave up pursuit if they did.

For now, all he could do was hold on as Volkova drove with all the speed she could get out of the engine without risking the animals in the back, alternately glancing at the road ahead, and backwards using the rear-view, trying to get a look at their pursuit, which was nearly impossible in the dark. He cursed as he realized he couldn't transmute anything without risking hitting the trucks behind them. He could hear gunshots, and he could see more lights behind them than there were animal trucks.

Then he realized something else that made his stomach turn. The truck farthest back was the one farthest from the gate when they left, which meant that was the one that held Anika.

* * *

:Can you see them?: Fyo shouted as the trucked bounced unevenly on every divit and crack in the old two-lane highway that wound like a drunk snake through the low hills.

:Maybe if you could steady us out I could get a better look!: Anika shouted back as she tried once again to twist far enough to look directly behind her. The rear-view mirrors were of little use. Not when she was trying to target the tires of a vehicle directly behind them. Every time the road straightened out for a few seconds the military truck behind them caught up a little more, and someone took a shot at _their_ tires. She had little choice, and fewer chances to try and do anything about it. Their only hope was that, in knowing when the road would give them a shot around a corner a split second before the enemy did, she might hit the tires, or the driver. Or the shooter. She could see the momentary spark sometimes from the gun as she would hear another plink off the metal.

:I'm trying my best here,: Fyo retorted. :Where-ever our tax money for roads was going it wasn't out here.:

Anika grimaced as they went over a particularly nasty bump that jostled her, and startled the baby, who popped her up under the ribs. _Easy little guy. This is not my choice either._

:What's wrong?:

:What do you mean?: She never took her eyes away from the mirrors as she sat back just a little, easing the pressure of the car door on her stomach.

:You grunted.:

:I'm fine.: Taking a slow breath, Anika watched the vehicles ahead of them, waiting for the next turn. If the head military truck behind them was still where she thought it was based on the rear-view, she had a chance at a shot the very next turn to the right, but her only clue as to when those were coming was the line of trucks _ahead_ of them.

And… there. She sat up, twisted out the window, aimed, and shot, ducking back inside as she one again heart a shot plink off the truck. There was no time to see if she'd hit anything, but as she sat back in the seat, and the truck angled back the other direction, she saw the lights behind them swerve dramatically, and then the car vanished out of her view.

A small explosion of fire erupted behind them and to the left.

:Nice shot!: Fyo whooped triumphantly. :That'll teach them.:

Anika smiled briefly, rubbing her stomach with one hand where it was sore from the pressure against the door, and its displeased occupant, who was still shoving in protest. :Only one,: she commented as she looked in her mirror. :There are still at least two more behind us.: It would have been nice if at least one of the other cars had stopped to see if their comrades were actually dead or not.

:So take them out too.:

:You seem very confident in my marksmanship.:

:I've never seen you miss.: He was grinning as she took a sideways glance in his direction.

:Before this moment you've never actually seen me shoot,: Anika pointed out.

:Precisely.:

She shook her head. Maybe they would get fortunate and the remaining vehicles would take the hint and give up. Or, at the very least, stop trying to shoot at them in the dark.

Another sound of a rifle report off the hills, and the plink of metal in the back was the disappointing answer. Anika readied another round, and started spotting for her next opportune moment.

* * *

For the first several seconds after everything burst into action, Niki Marskaya was certain they were all dead.

At the sound of the trucks, soldiers had come boiling out of the barracks, running for vehicles. Niki, poised with his rifle trained on the soldiers at the east gate, had taken aim from his hiding place, and fired three shots. Both men at the gates had hit the dirt, but by then, his hiding place had been compromised. He barely had time to duck before men were swarming up the hill towards him in the dark. From there it had been a frantic struggle down the other side of the hill, sliding in the loose rock and sand, until he hit the bottom and rolled, coming up with little choice but to make a break for it.

He had barely gone fifteen yards when a truck caught up with him. Blood pumping, he stopped to bring his gun to bare-

-as Gavril Mihalov grinned at him grimly from the open window. :Get in!: he shouted.

Niki had scrambled into the passenger side and they took off racing straight for the open desert despite the bumpy terrain.

Gavril winced more than once, his wounds clearly hurting him, but he didn't stop.

:Thanks for the pick up.:

:Think nothing of it.: Gavril's eyes flicked constantly between the road ahead and the mirrors. After a couple of miles he slowed. :It doesn't look like they're chasing us.:

:The targets they care about went the other way,: Niki pointed out. One of them being his baby sister. :Think we can catch them?:

:We've still got enough gas.: Gavril nodded, and directions, angling south, not quite back the way they had come, skirting the edge of the desert until they hit the old highway. :How much ammunition do you have left?:

:Twelve shells.: It was plenty as long as he didn't waste it, and he wasn't one to take lazy shots.

Gavril seemed to be thinking the same thing. :That should be plenty, especially from behind.:

Niki's first clue they were catching up was what looked like a fireball rising into the air ahead of them. His chest constricted briefly until they drove past, and he could see it was clearly one of the military trucks and not a zoo transport.

Miles they went on, the minutes stretching out interminably, with Niki straining to catch some sight of taillights in the distance. Or, just as troublesome, front lights if the military had given up the chase.

Then they were past it into the darkness, winding along the foothills. Gavril looked concerned, but did not slow down as they whipped around the turns at speeds that only someone comfortable with mountain driving could manage. Niki found a new type of respect for the man. He did not try to start conversation. The last thing he wanted to do was distract Gavril from the road, which was getting slowly and consistently more treacherous.

That did not keep him from worrying about his sister, or Ted. He had come to really respect, and like, the Amestrian his sister seemed to be set on marrying. Whatever happened in all of this, Ted had turned his own life upside down to find Anika and not only protect her, but _all_ of them. He hadn't been bluffing about being willing to help end a war if it meant they could be together.

Niki wished he had someone he felt that way about. Leonid had his wife and kids. Kirill… well, he might have more luck if he was less grouchy. Maybe when this was over, if they lived through it, he'd have better luck. _Of all of us, it gets to be Anika who finds romance on the battlefield._

His thoughts were cut off as he heard what sounded like another loud pop ahead of them. Gavril brought them over a rise and suddenly there were all the taillights in front of them, and the truck at the head of the line seemed to be swerving off the road!

* * *

The unmistakable sound of a tire blowing out just under the cab was the only warning Ted and Mrs. Volkova had before the truck swerved abruptly, and Mrs. Volkova cursed aloud in a string of Drachman Ted only half-knew as she fought the wheel to keep the truck from careening off the road. It bounced, skidded, and skewed one way and then the other, before finally coming to an abrupt and painful stop.

Heart pounding from adrenaline, Ted took a deep breath, then popped his seatbelt. There was no way they could keep going without a tire, and no time to wait. It was fix it or fight. As he dropped from the cab, he could see the other trucks stopping behind them, and then he heard gunshots from behind that told him what he dreaded most. They had _not_ managed to lose the Drachman military.

He didn't have time to fix the tire. Sprinting forward, Ted darted past the trucks, dropping to the ground, whipping out a transmutation circle in the dust with only a finger, and smacked his palms into the dirt beside it. The circle glowed, and a wall of dirt and rocks erupted from the ground behind the last truck, rising up nearly ten feet. It wouldn't stop them forever, but it was an effective bullet-break. :Fix that tire and prepare to fight!: he shouted as he heard scrambling and footsteps behind him.

Anika appeared beside him, holding her rifle. :Where do you think they'll come over?:

Despite years of fighting alongside women in combat, Ted almost swallowed his tongue in a moment of panic. :Get back in the truck. I've got this.:

:You're not even _armed,_ : Anika objected.

Standing up, Ted looked her in the eyes as he fought the urge to pick her up and carry her there himself if necessary. : _Get in the truck,_ Anika. _Please._ We don't have time to argue about this.:

:If you think I'm just going to let you get yourself killed—:

:Than that's exactly what you're going to have to do. Not that I have any intention of dying. Cover me from _back there,_ where there's a good heavy metal door between you and anyone they've got. _You_ are indispensable. Now go. That's an order.:

She looked furious, but she nodded curtly, and marched back towards the truck.

Ted turned back to the wall. He could hear shouting on the other side, and the sound of rocks falling as people scrambled up the other side. Apologies could come later, when they survived.

He was hardly _unarmed,_ but he was going to have to do some serious damage to the enemy if they came over or around that ridge. He hoped that in the darkness, they would assume it to be longer than it was, or give up before they realized they could get around it if they went a few dozen yards.

Different footsteps behind him resolved themselves into Fyo and Potyr, one carrying another rifle, the other a pistol.

:Where did you get those?: Ted asked.

Fyo shrugged. :The soldiers didn't search the transport trucks very well. We always keep weapons on hand for safety when transporting carnivores.:

:Lucky for us then. I want each of you covering either end of this wall. It runs about twenty yards in either direction from the center. They may or may not figure that out before they get over it, but we don't know how many there are.: Only that it looked like two trucks, which could be holding anywhere from two or three men, to twenty.  
They both nodded, and Potyr went left, and Fyo went right. Ted was grateful for the relatively clear night. Out here in the middle of nowhere, the stars and sliver of a moon were enough that he could see the trucks, and people, even though it would definitely mess with the depth perception and vision of anyone not used to fighting in the dark. That put his zoo companions at a disadvantage.

Fortunately, they had _one_ stupid crazy military trained alchemist on their side. If they were truly lucky, they would have the tire fixed in a couple of minutes.

Time ticked by in a trickle of seconds, until it felt like it had been much longer than the couple of minutes it was in actuality before Liena showed up next to him, looking worried. :We don't have a spare tire,: she blurted out. :Is there any way you can fix this one with your…you know…:

:Alchemy?: Ted quirked an eyebrow at her reticence to say the word. Now, however, was not the time to be insulted or concerned about the long-ingrained Drachman prejudice against alchemy. :I can try, but that's going to leave the middle here open. Do you have a weapon?:

Liena nodded. :I should, in the truck.:

:Then get it.:

The look of embarrassment on her face was gone in a moment as she nodded and sprinted back to the next truck back, then came back at a slightly more reasonable pace, carrying another rifle. With a nod, Ted left the post, hurrying past her back towards the first truck. They were stuck now, if they couldn't get it moving. It blocked too much of the road and clear area beside it to get the rest past it given the current terrain. He couldn't send the rest of them on even if he wanted to make a potentially suicidal last stand.

Of course, at that point he wouldn't have had to hold back at all with his alchemy…

The tire was shredded. He had no idea what they had hit, but it was a terrible mess and parts of it were missing. That did not bode well for repair, even with alchemy. :Can we find any more of the rubber?: he asked, knowing it was a tall order.

Mrs. Volkova did not look hopeful. :We can try, but it will take too long in this darkness. Is there enough left to work with?:

There was going to have to be. :If I take just a little bit off of every other tire… there might be. But that will put us at risk for other blow-outs in the future if we hit worse terrain.: He ran the math in his head. :Maybe a three percent chance. It's a risk we'll have to take though.: There wasn't another option.

He bent to the task, pulling chalk out this time to draw a circle properly on the truck. He only had time to get it right.

The last line was just in place when he heard shooting break out behind him, and a terrified shout from Liena of :They're coming over!:

Time was up. He slammed his hands against the truck, and transmuted as fast as he could manage it. The entire truck glowed faintly, particularly the tires, and then in what probably seemed like a flash, but felt like a lot longer as he poured his own energy into it, the tire appeared once again whole. It was not a great tire, and it was thinner than he wanted, but it was better than a shredded one. :We've got to get out of here! Get this thing started. I'll get the others.: Then, sweating even in the cool night air, he turned and pelted back towards the wall.

As he got closer he could see—and hear—how bad the situation had grown in just that short time. Liena was shooting at the top of the wall, and he could hear gunfire to both the right _and_ the left! That meant that however many there were, they'd decided to split up, and it was more than one at each location.

Their only saving grace was the ones coming over the top did not have weapons drawn, because they had needed both hands to reach the top. Two already lay dead at the bottom on their side. :How many have you seen?: he barked.

:I've shot three,: Liena she responded, looking decidedly shaky. :There's at least one more up there, but I think he's hanging off the backside right now.:

:I can handle that,: Ted assured her. His dust-circle was toast, but he hadn't trained for decades to be slowed by that. With a few seconds to think he pulled his transmutation gloves out of his pockets and snapped them on. It was offensive time.

This time when his hands hit the ground, he envisioned lances of the metals in the earth shooting out the other side of the wall like the barbs of a metal porcupine.

He was almost immediately rewarded by the sound of shocked, painful screaming from several voices, followed by bodies hitting the ground. While he doubted he had killed all of them, they would be dealing with some pretty nasty painful wounds.

That did nothing to help the shooting still coming from both flanks. The fact that it was still going was a good sign because it meant that Fyo and Potyr were holding them off.  
He was about to dart right when he heard something far more concerning off to his left.

The sudden silence of gunfire.

Twenty yards was covered in an instant, and Ted could see them, at least six soldiers running their way with weapons drawn.

 _I could use a little Elric luck on this one!_ He thought to himself, and any dead ancestor who might bother to hear it, as he slammed his palms together the way his grandfather did; just for some of that luck. Then, he transmuted, and the air in front of him exploded as dozens of rocks and tiny chunks of hastily transmuted metal erupted from the earth and shot themselves into the oncoming rush of men.

Behind him, bullets shot past from two guns, and he knew Liena and Anika both had his back.

He just hoped that would be enough. He couldn't transmute like this forever, though he kept filling the air with projectiles as the soldiers ducked behind a nearby outcropping of rocks.

Moments later the firing began again as they popped heads out sporadically to take shots at him. Most of the bullets met with flying earth and went off mid-air, causing short pops as they died.

A sharp stab of pain in his shoulder sent Ted staggering back a couple of feet, breaking the transmutation, as he dropped to the ground, panting. He'd been hit. He glanced at the wound, which was leaking blood from the front and back of his shoulder, maybe an inch from the top. _Clean through, nothing vital._ Blood loss might be a factor later. Right now… he gritted his teeth and thrust himself up onto his knees and pulled one of Aunt Sara's tricks, thickening the air itself between them, so it caught, cushioned, and deflected bullets. He didn't have to see them to block them if he just blocked off a large enough area.

His vision began to swim, even as he shut away the pain in his shoulder, ignoring it like he had other wounds in the past. But he was faltering. If he didn't find a way to take them out, this might just be it for him. For him… he wouldn't let them touch those he was protecting.

* * *

Even hearing and seeing it happen, distances were deceptive out here near the desert. Niki cursed often, and loudly, as they ripped through the night, over and around several lower hills from the one on which they had been when they saw the swerve begin. The next time they got a clear view a giant wall had erupted out of _nowhere_ across the road, and they could see nothing beyond it. Only the lights of two vehicles on the closer side.

The military vehicles, Niki guessed. The wall must be something of Ted's devising.

Gavril seemed to have reached the same conclusion. :That's alchemist work,: he commented simply as he kept driving, his face hard and focused, even though he was hunched slightly over in pain. :They won't be expecting us from behind. How do you want to proceed?:

:They'll hear us coming, so trying to stop and sneak up is pointless,: Niki replied. Also they'd never get there in time to do any good. :I say we rush in at speed, and I'll try and shoot anyone we see in uniform. If they're focused on getting over that monster, they should be sitting targets.:

That was all the strategic planning they had time for, before they rounded the last corner and zoomed towards the two vehicles. At the last moment Gavril yanked the wheel and the truck turned sharply broadside, giving Niki a full front view of the two trucks and anyone in view. Gun loaded and ready, he sighted on the nearest body in uniform and opened fire, hitting three before they whipped out of view.

:Nice shooting,: Gavril complimented. :I counted two more by the trucks. You?:

Niki nodded. That was his count too. Only five… and the shadows of what looked like several corpses on the ground at the base of an edifice that was more pin-cushion in reverse than wall. :Remind me never to get that guy angry.:

:Another pass or see if we can get around it?: Gavril asked as he wove and bumped through several low rocky hills. :They might be waiting for us this time.:

:One more pass,: Niki decided. :It's worth the risk if we can take out the vehicles.: Then, no matter what happened, they wouldn't be going anywhere.

Gavril took them back north until he found a place in the rocky terrain where they could hit the road again, retracing their steps and hoping the enemy wouldn't be expecting them to return from the road. It was necessary though, if Niki wanted any chance at hitting anything. He couldn't shoot effectively _past_ Gavril in the driver's seat.

He heard a bullet whiz past this time, as he took his own shots, hitting one man, and he was fairly certain he had hit at least one tire on both trucks. He had gotten off three shots into the dark corners under the vehicles.

Then they were swerving around, and Gavril cut back right, giving Niki one more clear pass. He hit the fifth man, and this side of that giant monstrosity was quiet.

That was when he heard the firing coming from the other side. :Sounds like trouble.:

:Then that's where we're headed.: Gavril gunned it, and they tore through the night along the wall, staying several feet clear to avoid the spikes. It had to end _somewhere._

* * *

Frustration fueled by fear had fled with the first gunshots on their side of the wall. Tucked away in the front of the truck, with only an oblique view to her right, which was the left side of the wall, Anika could do only what she had been told; cover Ted's back, and Liena's when she ran up. From her slightly higher vantage point, it was thankfully not too difficult to avoid hitting _them_ even if it didn't give her much of an advantage against the soldiers hiding in the distance.

It had taken all her willpower not to run out to Ted's side when she saw him drop to his knees. Only training had kept her firmly entrenched, even as she was irritated at her own emotional response. _Stupid hormones._ It was worse than puberty. Focus, shoot, reload, focus, shoot. She fell into the same rhythm that had become too familiar over the last several months, pushing emotions and fear to the back of her mind and focusing on the task that would keep them alive. Ted was up, and there was some weird ambient glow in the air, so something was happening. He was alive, and she was going to keep him that way!

The enemy fire was focused on the obvious threats, and not on her. Anika took advantage of that to aim her shots more carefully. In the dark it was difficult to tell if she'd hit her targets, but the enemy fire seemed to be lessening. She was fairly certain she had wounded or killed at least two. It wasn't enough. She kept firing, trying to place her shots, not rush them. She was running low on ammunition.

Then a new sound came out of the night; the sound of a vehicle engine, and behind the soldiers, she could see headlights. _No, please no. Not more of them._ Reinforcements would overwhelm them.

The lights grew brighter, the noise louder even over the barrage of gunfire. The vehicle hurtled towards them, accelerating as it came.

Anika took aim at it. If it aimed at Ted, she was taking out whoever was driving. She was not going to let them kill him. If he died, they were all done for.

The vehicle was in range, then it was closer and then it swerved, plowing straight into the enemy behind the outcropping.

Anika kept her sights trained on the vehicle anyway as it cleared the rocks, and came around for another pass. The flash of gunfire from the truck, aimed at the soldiers, decided her, that it was _not_ the enemy. She wished she could see the shape of the truck more clearly. Was it Gavril? Was Niki with him? The shooting implied two people, but she had no idea what had happened to the two of them once the break-out had started.

It was the shooting that decided her. Anika lowered her weapon, and leaned back away from the window, easing pressure and stretching cramped muscles. The immediate firing outside stopped, and she heard the sound of the engine growing further away. In the distance, the other gunfire stopped as well.

Alive…they were still alive. Every ache, the pounding of her heart, the squirming of a child who was not a fan of being crunched, or apparently loud noises, were all very present reminders.

 _She_ was alive. There was no way to know who else was until she saw for herself. Sitting upright, Anika opened the door and stepped down to the ground. Behind her, she could hear the engine of one of the trucks. Glancing back, she saw that the first truck had straightened back out on the road. That meant the tire was probably fixed.

Anika turned back around, and her heart leapt into her throat. Ted lay on the ground, flat on his back. Liena was kneeling beside him.

She ran to him as quickly as she could manage across the uneven ground. :Ted?: she panted, looking down.

His eyes were open, and he had his right hand up pressing against his left shoulder, which was dark with blood. Ted grimaced when he saw her, then smiled through gritted teeth. :Nice shooting.:

:How bad is it?: Crouching down took a moment as she lowered herself down, one hand braced on the ground to keep her balanced.

:It's just a flesh wound,: Ted gave a cavalier one-shouldered shrug. :Bullet went straight through. Just hurts like hell.: He closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath and then—even as she tried to object—forced himself up into a sitting position. :Damn it. This resistance life is making me soft.:

:Soft?: Liena shook her head. :After what you did? That was incredible! Like magic.:

:Not magic. Alchemy's more of a science,: Ted insisted. :You think this is something, you should see what we do just on a regular basis for drills back home. I could have taken them all out faster than that if I hadn't had to worry about unintended casualties.: He glanced meaningfully at Anika, who felt herself twitch in irritation.

:Well we need to get you bandaged, and we need to find everyone else,: Anika insisted. :Who was in the truck?:

:Niki and Gavril.: Ted's smile broadened. :They took off to cover Fyo after they plowed over our troublemakers over here.:

:Is anyone left alive?: The last thing she wanted was another firefight if any of the soldiers had any fight left in them.

:Not sure. If they are, they're in no shape to do anything. They drove _through_ the group, plowed them right over, and took a few shots at them.: A crease formed in his brow as the smile faded. :We'll need to look, but I'm almost certain Potyr's dead. They wouldn't have left him alive, and they got past his position.:

Liena sobbed, then cut it off sharply. :Sorry.:

:Don't apologize.: Ted shifted onto his good arm and pushed himself back up onto his knees. :Combat's nasty business. I wouldn't expect any of you to be _used_ to this much death unless you've been in firefights before.:

:. Help me.: Anika stepped forward before Ted could do any worse damage trying to manfully get to his feet. The two women moved in and took hold of him, keeping him steady as he rose. Anika was surprised at how little support was needed.

:First thing's first. We check the bodies.:

:But what about your wound?:

:I'll live.: Ted looked at Liena . :Got any shots left?:

:A few.: Liena replied, clearly uncertain.

:Give me the pistol.:

She handed him the gun without another word, but she followed when Anika insisted on walking beside Ted towards the outcropping of rocks and the bodies littered around it.  
Most of them were very clearly dead, sprawled in unnatural, broken positions, and splattered in blood that stood out only as black against the moonlight.

Ted took his time, kicking every one of them. Then, he put a bullet through each one's head. When he ran out of ammunition, he picked up a weapon from the ground, checked it for ammunition, and continued.

Then she heard it, moaning. Only one body was moving.

:Collect their weapons.: Ted motioned at the dead bodies as he moved towards the moaning.

Anika tried not to look too closely at the carnage as she picked up the military rifles and, despite the nauseating turn in her stomach, she went through any ammunition pouches she could easily reach and took the ammunition as well. There wasn't much left, but anything might be needed later.

She tried not to listen to the shot that silenced the groaning nearby, but she could not make herself look that direction as she took the weapons, carefully emptied and safeties set, back to the trucks. The lights of an approaching truck came, much more slowly this time, from the other direction. It parked several yards away, as Liena met the people coming out.

Anika set the armload of weapons down, and let herself be enfolded in her brother's arms as Niki ran across the intervening ground, and hugged her tightly.

:Thank goodness, you're safe,: they both spoke at the same time.

Niki chuckled. :You're not hurt at all, are you?:

Anika shook her head. :Maybe bruised a bit, but I'm fine. You?:

:Same. Took a nice roll down a hill, and these roads are terrible, but they never managed to hit us.: He loosened his grip on her a little then. :We'll need to take a look at Gavril. He was driving the whole time, and he's exhausted. I don't think his wound has come open or anything, but he's in a lot of pain, and pretending he's not. Your friend Fyo took a couple of graze-wounds. One to the face, and another sliced his shoulder, but they don't look bad enough to need stitching, just some really good bandages.:

:Well, we have those. Ted took one through the shoulder,: she replied. :Do you have the medical supplies?:

Niki nodded. :They're still in the truck. I'll get them.:

Anika let herself get lost in taking care of everyone. Mrs. Volkova and Liena, being fine, assisted with bandaging up Fyo's two wounds, and checking Gavril, who was in surprisingly good spirits despite clearly having pushed himself past his limits.

:It's been a long time since my life was this exciting,: he commented as she checked his healing surgical tissue, which she was relieved to find entirely in order.

:Well, I'm glad we could make your trip interesting,: she quipped as she re-bandaged his side.

:I'll take interesting over dead.: Gavril stretched gingerly. :What's our next step?:

:We need to get someplace where we can rest and determine our next direction.: Anika looked around for Ted. What was taking him so long? Surely, he wasn't taking time to loot the dead? This escape into the desert had been his crazy idea. All of the crazy ideas seemed to be his.

:We should get off the highway then,: Niki suggested. :If they send more men, eventually they'll catch up with us on here. I think we need to head out into the desert as planned.:

:The question is where to head once we get out there.: Gavril fell deep into thought.

:Xerxes.:

Everyone's heads whipped up as Ted appeared out of the darkness, with a body over his shoulder.

Anika opened her mouth to ask what he thought he was doing when she recognized the body. Words died in her throat.

The group went quiet as Ted went around the back of the truck, and placed Potyr's body gently down. They followed, watching. :We're going to Xerxes,: Ted repeated. :The ruins will be the best place for us to recover. I've been told the old wells still provide drinkable fresh water, and there's no reason for them to expect us to go there.:

:How far is it?: Gavril asked.

:If we push through, we should be able to reach it day after tomorrow.: Ted frowned. :Late in the day. We're not in any shape to make it through the night without rest. There aren't any oases this far north, but if we keep to the rockier parts of the desert, we'll be fine. They won't be able to follow our tracks if we aren't leaving them. By the time we reach true sand, they shouldn't be able to pick up our trail.: Ted turned and looked at all of them. :I'll be honest. I don't think we can go back into Drachma, or back to the Marskaya headquarters. They'll be looking for us, when their men don't return, and we can't take the zoo animals there. Our best hope… is to continue down to Xerxes, and then cut south-west to the Amestrian border.:

:But the border is closed!: Liena objected.

Ted shook his head. :The border between _Drachma_ and Amestris is closed. The desert is neutral territory. We won't be crossing the closed border.:

:Will Amestris let us in on a technicality?: Gavril asked.

:With you, a handful of civilians, millions of sens in zoo animals, and one AWOL State Alchemist. They might just.: Ted shrugged. :They won't arrest anyone, except maybe me. At the very worst we'd have to continue down to Aerugo, which I know has accepted a few Drachman refugees that have been _passed through_ Amestris. I have friends there, too, but I don't think we'll need to go that far. We just need to get to the eastern border of Amestris. There's not a wall or anything, and it's not heavily patrolled. All we need to do is get to the nearest small town with a public phone, and I can call Central Command directly.:

:It's our best plan,: Niki agreed into the silence that followed. :We'll need to change who's driving what.:

Anika nodded in agreement. With Potyr dead, they were down a driver.

:I'll drive the truck in front, to navigate the way,: Ted leaned against the edge of the back. :Mrs. Volkova will take the rear position, to make sure no one gets lost on the way. Between them, Fyo and Liena will continue driving their trucks. Niki, I want you to take over for Potyr.:

Yet again, she was left in the dark. :What am I doing?: she asked, trying not to sound snappy.

:You'll be riding with me and Gavril in the front.: He grimaced. :You can patch me up now.:

Anika bit her tongue. :Yes, _Sir_.: She went to fetch the kit as people scattered and started heading to their vehicles to right them. She was used to following directions. She was even used to taking direct, military orders from her father. She was _not_ used to being ordered around by Ted. Close-combat, full-military mode Ted was very different from any of his behavior on their missions so far, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it, aside from the fact she didn't like it. He _expected_ to be obeyed, and he had dispatched the dead with cold efficiency. While she knew they couldn't have taken hostages, or left them behind, that didn't make the fact it didn't seem to bother him at all much more palatable.

When she got back, most of the others had scattered, but Ted was watching as Niki and Fyo placed Potyr's body tenderly into the empty vegetable crate that had been Gavril's hiding place. She supposed it made an appropriate coffin. It would also be less disturbing than seeing him there any time she needed to get into the back for anything. :Hold still,: she told Ted shortly as she pulled out the disinfectant and bandages.

He looked startled, but nodded and did not move as she removed the remaining bloody shred of sleeve from off his shirt, cutting it away so she could access the holes on both sides of his shoulder muscle. He barely winced as she cleaned the cut with alcohol, swapped it spotless, applied a couple of small stitches on each side to hold it closed, hit it with disinfectant, and bandaged his shoulder.

When she was done, he flexed his shoulder, moved it around, and then nodded. :Good. Let's go.: Then he turned without another word and went around to the front.  
Anika almost through the roll of bandages at his head. Would a thank you have been too much? Telling herself to calm down, she re-packed the supplies, closed the back of the truck, and went around front, where she piled in between Ted and Gavril. They still had a long road ahead of them, and no idea how many more men might be coming after them, or when. She just wanted to get somewhere they could rest, and take care of the animals. They must be so confused and scared, trapped for days in those cages. Myrda never liked being confined for any length of time.

For that matter, neither did Anika.


	46. Chapter 46

**August 9** **th** **, 1990**

Ian was glad they didn't have to be anywhere on a schedule this evening, mostly because if they did he was certain they would have been late. Not that he minded. Watching Bonnie work with her horses was always a pleasure. This evening, she was working with Rosie's eight-month-old colt, while the mare watched on curiously from the next paddock.

Not that training a baby that young was anything Ian would have called complicated. Most of it was regular daily repetition of the basics. The handsome little dark chestnut was now quite comfortable with being groomed, wearing his halter, and walking on a lead. Bonnie insisted that if the baby learned good manners and socialization from the beginning, he would be much easier to train for riding.

This evening had gone particularly well, and Bonnie was relaxed and beaming as she finished leading Showman around the ring, making him walk, stand, turn, and follow her without pulling.

When she was finally done, she stopped, and gave him a small bite of carrot as a reward, before leading him back to the gate, where Ian was leaning against the fence, waiting. "He's really coming along."

Bonnie grinned as she reached the fence, and kissed him in greeting. "He's an excellent student," she agreed. "I can't wait until he's old enough to be put under saddle. He's such a sweetheart."

"He has a great trainer." Ian's hand lingered for a few extra moments on her cheek. "Patient, caring, beautiful."

"My looks have nothing to do with my training capabilities."

"No, but I can still compliment them, can't I?"

"From you, I might believe them." Bonnie turned back to the foal, stroking his head. "You know, we should get you a horse too," she commented. "Then we could go for family rides."

Ian chuckled. "We'll be able to do that as soon as Showman here's broken to saddle. Won't we?"

"He won't be ready for _you_ to ride him that soon." Bonnie shook her head. "He's going to need a very experienced trainer's hand for some time."

"So I ride Rosie. I presume you don't mind that, if you'll be on the handsome young man."

She eyed him slyly. "Jealous?"

"Maybe a little."

Bonnie shook her head. "You need someone with a bit more spunk than Rosie. She'd be much better off as a child's horse now that she's getting older."

"Well, I suppose so." Ian could see that. Rosie was the most patient, well-mannered horse in the stable. "But when would she ever—" He stopped dead mid-sentence as he thought about what she had said about family rides and a child's horse. Then there was the patient, amused expression as Bonnie waited for him to put it together, and he felt a warm, growing hope inside. "Are you saying what I hope you're saying?"

An impish grin spread across Bonnie's face as she nodded. "You _did_ say you wanted a family. No taking it back now."

"Take it back?" Ian's joy bubbled up in a chuckle as he pulled her into a hug. "I'm ecstatic. This is incredible!" He kissed her again. "Best news ever…except maybe when you agreed to marry me."

"Better than your Award win?" Bonnie teased.

"A thousand times better." He would have held her longer, but Showman was clearly impatient with the lack of movement, because he nosed them both. "Easy there, little guy. No need to be jealous." Ian reached out and rubbed the colt's nose. "You'll still get plenty of attention."

Bonnie chuckled. "Let me put him up and we can go."

"I'll get the gate." Ian let go of her, and reached for the gate latch. Once it was open, Bonnie let the colt through. It only took her a moment to put Showman in the paddock and unclip his halter. Free, the colt pranced back to Rosie, who nuzzled him before they settled back to cropping the grass around their feet.

"I'm so glad he weaned easily." Bonnie watched them for a few more seconds. "Keeping them separated until her milk dried up was so hard."

"On all of us." Ian was relieved that Bonnie's fretting about the trauma of keeping them apart was over. Now, they could fret about all the planning they needed to do before they became parents. "So, what would you like for dinner? We can go anywhere you want."

" _Anywhere?_ "

"In Central," Ian amended. "This is definitely celebration news."

"Can we go to _Carelos_?" Bonnie asked hopefully. "I have been _dying_ for some of their seafood."

"Cravings already?" Ian teased as he slid one arm around her shoulders. " _Carelos_ it is. You know I'm always up for seafood." They headed back towards the car.

"That's because you'll eat almost anything."

"And if we're going to afford everything we need for this kid, it's a good thing I like my own cooking."

 **August 10** **th** **, 1990**

In the falling darkness, Xerxes loomed out of the desert like a citadel, dark and foreboding. Still, it was their safe place, a haven out of the wide-open desert where they felt like targets. It was a defensible position, with water and shade and abandoned buildings. It was a place where they could rest, take care of the animals, and then move on.  
Anika hoped it would be a good place to renew their spirits, which were decidedly flagging. The view was bleak, and with the constant fear of someone behind them, their two stops had been briefer than planned. Just enough time to see to the animals, catch naps with someone on guard, and move on.

Even with radios between the trucks, chatter was minimal. Everyone was exhausted, and often lost in their own thoughts.

They drove into the ruins, and were quickly surrounded by shadows. Ted seemed to have some idea of where he was going, because he turned several times before coming to a wide-open area, surrounded by crumbling walls and columns. In the center stood a large round basin. The water inside glinted as it moved within, and she knew they had found their water source, the natural spring. There, he drove around to the larger area of the square, and parked. The other trucks lined up beside them.

:This is a fascinating place,: Gavril commented, looking around with renewed curiosity. :How did you know where to find the spring?:

:Descriptions.: Ted turned off the engine. :My grandfather came here once, a long time ago. He told me about it.:

:You have a good memory.: Gavril opened the door as Ted opened the other, and Anika found herself with room to move as both men climbed out of the truck. She followed them out into the falling dusk. The sky above was clear, and streaks of orange and purple were visible through the ruins. It was stark, and yet oddly beautiful. The silence was a little disconcerting.

:There isn't a lot of wild life here,: she commented aloud.

Ted shook his head. :We'll find some, but not much in the city itself. You'll notice that they paved it well, so it's difficult for burrowing desert animals to live here. We might see some small lizards, and a few birds.:

The others joined them, and they began the routine they had set at the last two stops. First, no matter how exhausted they all were, the animals needed to be checked for signs of illness or distress, and fed and watered. Ted did something with alchemy to test the water _just in case,_ before declaring it perfectly safe, and tasty.

Anika took buckets of it straight to the cat truck, where she started refreshing water dishes, and pulling meat out of the coolers that was keeping it fresh, chopping it into appropriate sized dinner pieces, and tossing it into cages.

None of the cats were happy. They weren't in their habitats, and they had been in this truck for days. Along with Myrda, they had saved the mated pair of Snow Leopards, and all three of their nine-month-old cubs, their single male lion, and the smaller wild cats. All told, there were fourteen cats in the truck that needed care, and they were not at all quiet about their displeasure.

Anika soothed them the best she could, being particularly cautious to remain out of reach of claws. The cages did not have spaces large enough for the bigger cats to get a paw through, even if they tried. Even though all of the cats had known her for years, that did not make them truly tame, and a frightened cat could be a dangerous cat. She was grateful that the cages had under-pans that, while difficult to move, could be slid out to remove most of the cat feces without having to bring the cats out. Or the truck would have smelled even worse than it did. Maybe they could leave the doors open for a few hours tonight and let them air out.

She saved Myrda for last, so she could spend the longest with her beautiful tiger. :Here you are, girl,: she slid the meat into the cage using the long poled grip she used with all of them, but once Myrda had eaten, she drew closer. The cat came up to the bars, making the deep rumbling noise tigers made that sounded like a smaller cat purring, only much bigger. Myrda butted her head against the bars. Anika stuck her fingers up against them so she could scratch the tiger's head, just a little. :I missed you too.:  
Her career at the zoo, these animals, that had been her dream job, and all of that had been ripped away. She would never forgive Savahin, or anyone else who had been involved in this coup that had turned her country into a bloody battlefield strewn with innocent people.

:We'll find a new home, where you have a great habitat, and we're safe,: she promised the tiger.

She didn't move until she heard the sound of Mrs. Volkova shouting :Soup's on!:

It was dark outside the truck now, but Anika was unsurprised to find that there was a camp set up, and a fire burning made from the scrub that had grown up in the cracks and corners. _Dinner_ smelled delicious. :What did you make?: she asked, her mouth quite literally watering as she sniffed the stewpot.

:I found the pot in an old building. Dry sand preserves things fairly well. Having an alchemist around is surprisingly useful. He was able to test it for any toxic metals and transmute it into something practically new.: Mrs. Volkova smiled. :So I cooked up a bit of the steak we had for the bears. Figured they wouldn't need it, and we could use the red meat, and a bunch of those vegetables you all so kindly brought along. Then I put the invalid squad to work.: She nodded to where Fyo and Gavril were sitting by the fountain. Between them was a pile of fresh washed and cut fruit in a bowl. :It's a bit late for anything more complicated, but I thought I might use some of that flour tomorrow to make biscuits, maybe slice up some more meat and fry it up, too. You, your brother, and your alchemist all look more than a bit underfed. Resistance work must be hungry work these days, and _you_ need sustenance.:

:I've been eating, I promise.: Though the doctor in Karmatsk had said much the same thing.

The older woman ladled up a bowl of the stew and handed it to Anika with a weird looking spoon. More of Ted's work? :Well you will be tonight. Sit, rest.: She gestured with the ladle.

Anika sighed. :I will in a minute. Where's Ted?:

Volkova's face softened a bit. :Burying Potyr. There's an actual cemetery plot behind the temple. He thought it would be fitting.:

Anika suspected Potyr would appreciate that he had not be left to rot, but was being laid to rest properly, even if it was on foreign soil. :Good.: She took the food, and went to sit beside Liena a few feet from the fire. There wasn't much of anything in the way of chairs, but Liena had laid out a blanket, picnic style, to keep them off the ground. Anika sat down cross-legged, and began eating. :This is good!:

Liena chuckled. :Isn't it? It's amazing how good anything tastes when you've been living off cold raw food for a couple of days, and military gruel.: She grimaced. :I'm so glad I never joined the military. The food's terrible.:

:The food when you're living in a mountain isn't too hot either,: Anika quipped between bites.

Liena winced. :I'm sorry, Anika! I didn't even think. You've had it rougher than the rest of us. The government doesn't care about us, except for the fact we just stole millions worth of wildlife.: She grinned at that.

:It would be nice if Savahin wasn't out for my father's head,: Anika agreed. :Or the rest of us. But we have Gavril Mihalov, and if we can get him somewhere where that will do some good, then we've done _something._ Just by being on this mission, you're now critically important to the resistance and Drachma.:

:Wow. That's… a lot of responsibility,: Liena admitted, taking another bite of her meal.

Anika let the conversation drop as Fyo and Gavril joined them with the fruit, and Mrs. Volkova finished cooking and served herself a bowl. Niki joined them next, having finished helping water the birds.

Anika was already on seconds when Ted joined them without a word. He took a bowl, and sat down between Gavril and Niki, eating in silence as the others chatted quietly around him. Whatever had come over him since the fight, it clearly had not dissipated. Anika wondered if anyone else had noticed. No one else seemed bothered by his change in behavior.

She wasn't really sure what to think, and they hadn't had a private moment to talk since leaving Karmatsk. They needed to talk. _She_ needed to talk. She needed explanations. What was bothering him? Why was he being so distant? Why wouldn't he say more than three words to her directly in any sentence? Anika at least thought she understood his insistence that she get in the truck. It wasn't _just_ because she was pregnant. Or at least, she didn't think so. It _had_ been safer, and it had turned out to be exactly right as a vantage point for firing at the enemy. Despite what his tone had implied when he ordered her back, Anika wasn't _reckless._ She didn't want to risk her child either. Did _he_ think she was that stupid?

The first sign of life came when Fyo disappeared for several minutes, then returned with an armload of bottles. :Who's up for a little _refreshment?_ : he called out, grinning broadly. :I'd say we've earned some serious relaxation.:

The mood around the fire perked up considerably, as Fyo handed out what proved to be a variety of alcoholic beverages, none of them mild. At least, that was most of them. When he got to Anika he winked and handed her a bottle of ginger soda. :Lucky for you, I had something less potent tucked away.:

Anika eyed him. :Do I want to know why you were hiding alcohol in the zoo's truck?:

:Don't ask, and I don't have to lie.: He moved on around the circle, before sitting back down between Liena and Gavril. :To our insane, successful escape!: He held up his own bottle. :And to Potyr… for sacrificing himself for the rest of us.: Fyo upended his bottle and took a long drink.

The others followed suit with varying levels of enthusiasm, some sipping, others taking longer drinks. It was interesting watching everyone. It had been a long time since she'd been out socially, and there was very little to drink up on the mountain besides water, coffee, and tea. She sipped her soft drink as slowly, people began to talk, to work through their grief and stress as suited each one best.

It started with stories about Potyr, and stories about the zoo in general. They'd had a lot of good times there. Then Niki chimed in about a goofy story that had happened at the expense of their older brother, Leonid, when they were teenagers. Soon everyone was sharing stories, even Gavril Mihalov, who told an audacious and almost unbelievable story about working with Amestrian alchemists on a diplomatic mission to uncover and capture some of the earlier members of the movement they were fighting now. Anika might not have believed it, if she hadn't seen the things she had in the last few months.

That, and Ted spoke up for the first time that night to confirm it.

:What, like you were there?: Fyo snorted, well into his bottle.

Ted smirked back. :Almost as good as. He's talking about my cousin Trisha and Roy Mustang. The same Mustang who worked with me when we broke General Marskaya out of prison and then blew up the Petrayevka airfields on our way out of town.:

Since only Niki and Anika had heard any part of that story—and the part Anika had _been there_ for—everyone else clamored for more, and Ted obliged, launching into a dramatic and only mildly exaggerated tale of their daring prison break. The facts themselves followed Anika's memories, though there seemed to be even more of a threat of being caught, and more close calls. Everyone was attributed their own part in the heroism though, including her. Then he moved on to how he and Roy had blown up the airfield and their dramatic escape, not unlike the one they had just made with the animals, except that the soldiers at the base never caught up with them.

The night grew later, and as everyone drank, the stories devolved, getting more exaggerated, but also more crude.

Finally, Anika stood up and went to go stand watch. Someone needed to do it. The edge of the square that faced the way they had come was also on the edge of a hill. Below was a long wide area that might have once been a park, or a market place. There were a couple of trees planted here, and bushes that could withstand the desert that had survived on their own. It was pretty, in its own way, and she had a good view of the stars above them, spread out like a vast ocean of glimmering flecks, each one incredibly clear.

The sound of footsteps behind her made her turn quickly.

It was Liena. :Hey, mind some company?:

She relaxed. :Not at all. I just figured _someone_ should be keeping watch.:

Liena smiled, and sat down on the edge of the stair beside her. :It's a beautiful view. It's too bad no one lives here anymore to see it.:

:I wonder what happened here.: Anika hadn't been able to get much information out of Ted about the place on the drive, and history was fuzzy. Drachman history called the place a land of barbarians and demon-worshippers. Anika suspected that had to do with the tradition that alchemy had come from here. Ted's comments before had confirmed that much. Amestris and Xing considered this the home of alchemy and alkahestry as well.

Liena shrugged. :I don't know. Maybe a plague? This city is a lot bigger than I always thought it would be. It must have been a thriving civilization once upon a time.:

They both grew quiet for a time, contemplating the night sky and the mysteries of the past.

At least until Liena said, :So… Ted.:

:What about Ted?: Anika asked.

:Mrs. Volkova called him _your_ alchemist, and he helped break your Dad out of prison. Niki says he left the Amestrian military for you.:

:He did,: she acknowledged. :What do you want to know, Liena?:

:I'm not even sure how to ask in words,: Liena admitted. :I just have _lots_ of questions, and they're all really nosy. Like, when did you meet? When did you… I mean, I'm assuming your baby is, you know, _his._ Is it love? Are you marrying him?: The questions came out on a rush as she got going, eyes alight with burning curiosity.

Anika had known her friends would ask eventually. There hadn't been time to explain anything during the escape, and they'd been too tired when they stopped, but apparently that hadn't kept Mrs. Volkova from making the connection or Niki from talking. Mrs. Volkova had met Ted and Roy before, after all. Liena and Fyo were friends. It made sense they would wonder. Her face flushed as she hoped that the drunken stories behind them didn't turn in _that_ direction. :It's… complicated.:

:Well I've never heard anyone call any relationship _simple._ Goodness knows, none of mine ever have been.: Liena's head cocked slightly to one side as she looked at Anika with a considering expression. :Can I guess?:

Anika sighed. :Go ahead.:

:Well, thanks to the story-telling fest and your chatty brother, I know you met Ted when you helped his team get into Karmatsk, but that was only a few weeks before you broke your father out of jail. You probably connected really fast because, from what I've seen so far, he's totally your type. He's smart, and creative, and he's got that military thing going for him. You're used to military types, so it's familiar too. He's competent, and he's not an ass. At least, I haven't seen him be an ass. I assume if he was you'd have shot him in his by now.: She grinned. :So, you two connected, and somewhere in there—not gonna guess where—things got steamy.:  
Good thing she wasn't going to guess, but Anika was never going to tell _anyone._ :Right so far.:

:So, you rescued your Dad, and then Ted and his alchemist friend wrought glorious havoc on the airfield on their way out of town.: Liena sat forward. :But it doesn't end there. It sounds like a war romance out of some old novel or a movie… except that he defied his entire _country_ to come back to you, and he's fighting for _us_ because of you. That's _amazing._ :

Anika nodded. :So, you like him.:

:How could I not?: Liena asked. :Who wouldn't, really? On top of being practically magical, and the kind of hero you only expect to see in fiction, he's _hot._ Besides, he's clearly in love with you. I mean, how many people would put themselves between a bunch of soldiers with guns and someone else _without_ a , he had his alchemy, so I guess that counts, but he had no cover, and he put himself out in front to protect all of us, but you're the one he was worried about. It was like something out of a movie, when he ordered you out of harm's way.:

Anika snorted. :You don't find that a little, I don't know, stereotypically sexist?:

Liena gave Anika her _are you nuts?_ Face. :Anika, you're what, eight months _pregnant_? No one in their right mind would put you on the front lines of anything. You're a distance shooter and you can't run for cover or dodge worth anything. Besides, you didn't see him telling _me_ to save myself, or Mrs. Volkova, did you? No. He made me stand there and _shoot_ at people coming over a wall. I'd _never_ killed anyone before that night. It's going to give me nightmares forever, but that's the nature of this whole _civil war_ thing, isn't it? Regular people get involved. If he hadn't known what to do, we'd have all _died._ He took charge, and told me to shoot. He took the hard part away from me, deciding I had to kill people. It was easier to do it when he told me to, because I knew if he thought I could do it, and it was necessary, than I could. It was terrible, and I never want to do it again, but at least it wasn't my call, you know? And I'm sure that makes me sound like a horrible coward, but I don't know if I could have decided fast enough that I _needed_ to do it. And I never would have been able to put them out of their misery if I didn't kill them on the first shot… or thought about what happened if one of them was faking. But that's what he was doing, right? Making sure they were dead before we left. None of them suffered, but they couldn't give us away either. It was… I don't know. But he didn't make me do that part. He did it himself, and then he went all the way out there alone and found Potyr and brought him back. Even if someone had been waiting out there to ambush us. He didn't have to do that. Leaving Potyr's body wouldn't really have told them anything important.:

Listening to her talk, and to Liena's interpretation of events, Anika felt irritated, but also a little foolish. She was used to being treated as another member of the team. On most missions, aside from not putting her on the front—which made sense given she was a better shot than a close-combat fighter anyway—her family and comrades had actually been fairly even-handed about treating her normally.

Still, that didn't fully explain his recent behavior. She could explain it away as _battlefield behavior_ , but he hadn't been like this on any of their other missions. Overthinking or not, it made her uncomfortable. _Something_ was different. Even after months of living and working together on a daily basis, and hours of talking about their lives, their feelings, their goals… there were clearly sides to him she still hadn't seen before now.

:You're right,: she finally remembered to say something as Liena sat there, waiting. :And I _do_ love him. It's just really not how I expected a relationship to go. Not knowing a single thing about what our life is going to be like, from day to day, let alone weeks, or years from now, is hard. _If_ we get into Amestris, will they let us stay? I'm not a citizen. I'm not even sure what their rules are for marrying foreigners. Can I _get_ a job? Will everyone hate us there because we're Drachman? I never even planned on leaving _Drachma._ Ted said he was willing to stay with me there forever if he had to, just to _be_ with me, but if Savahin stays in charge… it would be a terrible place to raise a family and if we went back, we'd have to keep fighting for as long as there's resistance, and you can't raise a child that way.: Not that she had planned on getting pregnant in the middle of a civil war. She hadn't even been looking for a _boyfriend._

:That is pretty crazy,: Liena conceded. :I have no idea what's going to happen either, but anything in Amestris has to be better than being a prisoner of my own government forced to watch while they sell our animals. Without the zoo, I wouldn't have had a job, and I don't know what they were going to do with us when it was over. Potyr thought they might shoot us. They might still…the ones we didn't bring with us.: Tears started leaking from her eyes, but she rubbed them away briskly. :I hope I can get a message to my family someday, telling them I'm okay.:

Anika felt like a bad friend. She reached out and squeezed Liena's hand. :We'll be fine. We got away, and we'll stay together for as long as it takes. Our best hope for ourselves, and for Drachma, is in finishing this mission. Even if it doesn't do anything, it'll make Savahin look bad when everyone finds out that Gavril got away, won't it?:  
Liena nodded. :Right. Maybe it'll keep people fighting, or maybe they'll figure out a plan. I don't know. I just… I already miss home. It's like Drachma isn't even the same place anymore.:

:Because it isn't. We've been lucky to grow up during a time where we had a pretty good government. Things aren't ever perfect, but it's better than some of our history.:

:That's true. We've had some pretty awful governments.:

:So…we'll fix this too.: Anika couldn't imagine this regime lasting long. It was so hateful and destructive that eventually the people would rise back up.

:Is this a private revolution?:

Both of them jumped, and looked back as Gavril Mihalov came up through the dark. His smile, good-humored, was the only clear thing in the dark until he stepped out from under a tree. Liena leapt to her feet. :No, Mr. Mihalov… I mean, you're welcome to join us.:

Gavril chuckled softly. :Please, just Gavril. We're all refugees together. Given recent events, I'm not worth much more than anyone else, and probably less.:

:Of—of course.: Liena nodded. :We were just sitting watch.:

:A good job for clearer heads,: Gavril agreed. :Dinara was looking for you, Liena. She had a question about one of the wolves.:

:Oh. Okay.: Liena nodded and hurried off.

When she was gone, Gavril sat down in the spot she had just vacated.

:You're on a first name basis with Mrs. Volkova?: Anika asked slyly.

Gavril smiled back, but shrugged. :We actually travelled in the same social circles once, if you can believe it. Rodi Volkova and I were friends at University. We got into a lot of…misadventures together. I introduced them at a party.:

:I had no idea.:

:No reason for you to have known. We lost touch after a while, outside of the occasional conversation or letter. Life gets busy, and sometimes you just drift a part.: His voice softened. :I went to his funeral, after he died of pneumonia. Dinara and I don't talk much anymore. Though, that might have more to do with her also being a friend of Darya's.:

It was no state secret that Gavril Mihalov and his wife had separated several years ago, but knowing him in person now, that information seemed much more immediate.  
:That… must make this awkward.:

:Not as much as you'd think,: Gavril admitted. :She's been very gracious, really.:

:If it's not too impertinent….can I ask why your wife left?: Anika wasn't entirely certain why she felt like the answer was important, but it was. He seemed like a good man, respectful, who cared very much for his country and for people. What would make a woman not want to stay with him?

Gavril nodded. :No, that seems a reasonable question. It wasn't anything I did, really, but what I _didn't_ do, in the end. At least, from what she told me. Darya left because I was too devoted to my work.:

:That makes no _sense.:_

:Doesn't it?: Gavril looked up at the stars. :They tell you that what really matters in this world is being devoted to something worth your time, to making the world a better place. I wanted that for Drachma, and I think that sense of vision, that determination, was what Darya saw in me, but it was also what left her feeling like she wasn't as important to me as my work. Hours in the office, late nights, travel, politics. It wasn't all dinners and socialization, particularly not once I got to where I could make real change, but when you're established, there's nothing glamourous about being the wife of a government representative, or a member of that government. It's the late nights, dinners apart, slipping in late and making apologies for another meeting that ran late hashing out the details of a bill being presented the next day. I guess… it wasn't the life she wanted, or maybe it wasn't what she'd expected. If I'd been able to tell her that before… well, I don't know that it would have made a difference. I didn't know how alone and unappreciated she felt, or how much of a good face she'd been putting on, until her patience ran out. She left me, and she took Amylla with her. Not that I would have been any good as a single parent. There was always too much to do, and she'd have spent half her time in child care.: He shook his head. :I always thought, we'd be different. It's not that uncommon a story really, not for civil servants, or for people I've known in the military. Still, I thought we understood each other better than that, and that the work I was doing was as important to her. That it would last, but it's been over three years now since she left. I never meant to hurt her.:

Anika could see that, if she thought about it. Her mother had always been entirely behind her father's career in the military, even when it meant weeks or months without seeing him. Anika remembered her mother's patience, and love. She had known what she was getting into when she married a young and promising officer. :That sounds like the opposite of my mom,: she verbalized the thought. :My parents were completely devoted to each other. It didn't seem to matter how long Dad was gone. We always missed him, but we were happy. I know she was happier when he retired from active duty, and became a representative. They were together more then.: Maybe it was a matter of perspective. Even up to the day she died, her mother had been wholly devoted to her family, and the causes they fought for.

:It takes a shared vision, and a lot of understanding.: Gavril nodded. :I had the honor of knowing your mother. She was enchanting.: He paused again, then wiped his face with his hand. :I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go so long. I've had a bit more to drink than was probably wise.:

:You are hardly the only one,: Anika pointed out.

:I'll leave the revelry and relief to those young enough to recover more quickly.:

Anika sniffed. :Doesn't make it any more _wise.:_

:Oh, I wouldn't be too hard on them. After the past few days, I think we all need to release a little pressure, and everyone deals with grief in their own way. You've lost a colleague, if not a friend, and most of us are not used to killing people, or being shot at, myself included, and I'm already more than tired of it. Ted, well, I think he's taking it harder than anyone else.:

There, there it was, one of the things that was bugging her that she hadn't been able to work into words. :Why _is_ that?: she asked, hoping that the older man might have some idea. :He's been in combat plenty of times. He's lost men before.:

:That's precisely why, I expect.: Gavril held up a finger as if she had hit a point. :He's trained military, and he's been an officer, with people working with him, and under his command. Their lives are in his hands. His orders can be the difference between success, and comrades dead on the field. It's not all up to him, but those decisions, they matter. None of _us_ are military. Yes, you and your brother were raised by a general, and you've been fighting in the resistance, but you haven't seen real military action any more than I have. Your father: he'd probably be feeling the same way; though, with his experience, he'd probably hide it better. The whole rescue was Ted's plan. We agreed to it, and provided input, but he was in charge of the mission. He gave us orders, and we followed them. Potyr died following those orders. It could have been any one of us, or more of us. All things considered, it would be a successful mission. But a man still died. Don't you think he wonders if there was anything he could have done differently to save him?:

:We all wonder that,: Anika replied softly. :I mean, if any of us could have saved him.: But he had a good point. Ted had made dozens of decisions without any time to think things over, acting on experience and the knowledge he had of their skills, and all of it to protect the group, and the animals, and the mission with minimal losses. Knowing Ted, and how much he _cared_ about people, he would carry the weight of Potyr's death. That was why he had gone to the trouble of carrying his body back to the truck, even with his own shoulder shot and still bleeding, and why he had buried him. It was all the apology he could offer. _This_ was the type of combat he'd really been trained for. :Are they done telling lewd stories yet?:

:When I left, they had shifted to stories about siblings, but only Fyo and your brother were really into it.:

: I hate to leave you alone…:

Gavril chuckled. :Go. He needs you right now.:

:Thank you.: Anika got to her feet, and made her way back to the camp. As he had said, the party seemed to have broken up a bit. Fyo and Niki were still sitting around the fire, red-faced and chortling about something. Liena and Mrs. Volkova had cleaned up dinner and were pulling out blankets from the back of the truck that had come from Karmatsk.

Ted was nowhere in sight. Anika bit back irritation and asked Liena if she'd seen where he went. She pointed towards where Ted had come from earlier, when he'd gone to bury Potyr.

Hoping it wasn't too far, Anika followed.

She didn't have to go more than a dozen yards before she found him.

Ted stood in another, smaller, empty space, surrounded by spaced columns, staring up at a broken wall. He held a lantern up as if by that he could better see whatever was so interesting.

Anika joined him. :What is it?:

:A transmutation circle,: Ted replied in hushed tones.

Squinting, Anika could make out lines and circles, like the ones he drew, and also symbols and images. :What does it do?:

:I'm not sure, with the top half missing,: Ted admitted. :My grandfather told me about it once. I wanted to see it for myself.:

:It's very beautiful. Why are we speaking so quietly?:

That got a small smile, though Ted continued in the same soft, awed tone. :This is… where my family comes from. Where my Great-Grandfather came from. It's the birthplace of both alchemy, and alkahestry. It's…well, I guess you could call it the closest thing alchemists have to holy ground.:

:I can see that.: Anika looked back up at the circle. :So—wait, what do you mean your great-grandfather is from here? I thought Xerxes was abandoned hundreds of years ago.: Maybe he was even more drunk than she thought.

:It's one of the biggest secrets of my family.: Ted's smile widened into a grin. :I don't know how much you know about Amestrian history, but the corruption that ended when my grandpa, and Roy Mustang, and others took out Fuhrer King Bradley…all of that was a secret plot that had to do with alchemy. The mastermind behind it… was a homunculus that had existed since before Xerxes was destroyed. It knew my great-grandfather. They had, let's call it a complicated past. All I know is what Grandpa Ed told me, because the homunculus looked just like Great-Grandpa Hohenheim. He'd helped it when it was a helpless thing, and it gave him an almost immortal body.:

This story was crazy. :How was it _almost_ immortal?:

Ted shrugged. :Nothing can really last forever, even something enhanced with alchemy. He lived hundreds of years, wandering the world. Then he fell in love in a little village in the middle of nowhere, and that's where Grandpa Ed and Great-Uncle Al were born…in Resembool. They live there now, too. It's a bigger town, but it's still pretty rural. That's where I grew up.:

She wanted to call him out for telling her something so insane, but it was clear from the look on his face as he looked up at the remains, and how he'd been acting as they came close to this place, that maybe his thoughts had been occupied _here_ as well. :So… does that make your grandfather, or your great-uncle part immortal?:

Ted shook his head. :No. I mean, they're both _really_ old, and surprisingly active, but they're as mortal as the rest of us.: His words faded away then, and silence stretched between them. :I'm sorry, Anika.:

She swallowed. :Sorry for what?:

:For getting your friend killed. For making you dig through the pockets of dead men. For shouting orders at you… for being preoccupied. I've… had a lot on my mind.:  
As soon as he said those words, the knot in her stomach eased. She reached out, wrapping her arms around him in a sideways hug. :You were just trying to keep us all alive.:  
His free arm went around her, and she felt him bury his face in her hair. :A task at which I _almost_ failed. None of you are trained military. I should have thought about that.:

:Should you?: she asked gently. :Was it the best plan? Would something else have worked?:

:It was the only plan I could think of,: Ted admitted. He lowered the lantern, setting it down on the cut-off remains of a nearby column. Then he wrapped his other arm around her, grip tightening. :We've been working as a team, all this time, but that's not how I treated you back there. I treated you like one of my alchemists.:

Anika hugged him back. :So you're not going to tell me it _wasn't_ because I'm a pregnant woman.:

:I can't tell you that, because I'd be lying,: Ted admitted. :If anything happened to you back there… both of you, I'd probably have leveled everything in a half-mile radius.:

:You could _do that?_ :

:Easily,: Ted replied seriously. :But I would have just as likely killed everyone else, and the animals, too. That kind of power… it's harder to control. I could have taken out their entire force on my own, or with a group of alchemists, without even worrying about it. But I couldn't have done that _and_ protected the rest of you, and I just… I can't focus when I'm worried about you. Not that I can focus well when you're around anyway,: he added with a low chuckle. :It takes all my concentration to focus on the mission. It's been that way since the first time we met.:

:Oh, really?:

:Really. You're…intoxicating. You were smart, and funny, and you knew how to shoot. What guy in his right mind _would_ be able to think about anything else? I'd never met anyone like you…and you're so _beautiful_ … and _sensual…_ and just having you near drives me to distraction.:

:Even now?: she asked, teasing him lightly.

:Especially now.: She could feel Ted's breath in her hair. :The first time I saw you, you took my breath away…after you stopped shooting at me. Now, I can't help wanting to be close to you every chance I get. Snuggling up with you at night, talking… just being close. Though I do dream at night, about what we'll be able to do after kiddo gets here.:

She didn't need to see his face to know what Ted was thinking. His tone held all the meaning she needed. :Next time…more forethought.:

:Definitely,: he agreed with a chuckle. :Oh…gods…I love you, Anika. The world is nothing to me without you in it. You…and our son. Maybe a daughter some day, who's a crack shot like her mom. You know…if you ever let me in your bed again. Settle down somewhere with a nice house, get a dog…or a cat. Just need to take care of this pesky little war problem first…:

Pesky little… Anika tilted her head so she could look him in the face. : _You_ are _drunk.:_

Ted shrugged. :I am _very_ drunk. I came within a hair's breadth of losing the two most precious lives I know, and got a civilian killed by ordering him to fight against trained Drachman soldiers, whom I had to put out of their misery if they weren't actually dead… and then I buried an innocent man. So yes, I am drunk. I am _exceptionally_ drunk. I am _incredibly_ drunk… and your friend Fyo has excellent taste in booze.:

:You are… weirdly eloquent when you're drunk.: Anika had never seen him like this before. The occasional drink did not seem to have much of an effect on him, and she'd been too busy with other things to wonder.

:When you meet my team, they could tell you stories,: Ted grinned, then it dropped almost as quickly as it had come. :Well, when you meet my friends. I can't really call them my team when I walked out on them. They might not even count me as a friend anymore…actually.:

Anika hugged him a little tighter. :If they're your friends, they'll forgive you.:

:I don't know about that.: Ted shook his head. :My first team… one died, and the other two won't talk to me. It's been years. These guys…:

:I _have_ met them, remember?: Anika reminded him with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. :I think they'll understand, even if they're mad at you. By now, they might just be glad to find out you're alive.: He had never managed to get a message home, and Anika could only imagine what his family thought. Surely, they would just be happy to have their son back alive, right? It occurred to her that, in his current frame of mind, she could probably ask Ted anything and get a straight answer.

:I hope you're right,: He replied. :They don't usually put deserters to death in Amestris these days, but I'm still not convinced I won't be looking at jail time which…might complicate the future a bit.:

:About that. What _is_ our plan?: Anika asked. :We keep talking about someday, and in the future, but… well, in the next ten weeks I'm having a _baby_. I'd rather not do it in prison, or out in the middle of nowhere as some refugee. I don't even know what the laws are in Amestris about marrying non-citizens.: Given the border was closed, she doubted she'd be granted citizenship. She might not even be granted permission to stay, though she was certain she knew enough information to be useful. She'd barter that intelligence if she had to. : _Can_ we get married? Where will we _live?_ Where are we taking my animals? I know you're really good at _winging things_ and somehow they work out with an unrealistic level of success…but I need a little more of a plan here.:

Ted's face flushed. :I wish I had more concrete answers. For the animals, well, the Central Zoo is huge, and they have exhibits for almost every animal you have with us, though you've got several species they don't have, but would probably love to, because they're a bit short on Drachman species. For the rest… I'm hoping they'll let us all go to Central. Intelligence needs to know what we know, and there's where all the political decisions are made. No one can touch us there, and from there Gavril can make whatever political move he likes, and Drachma can't touch him.: He blinked in the lamplight. :I've got a good amount of my pay saved up. Don't spend much when you live in military housing…I can cover a place that'll fit us. Until we work that out, I've got lots of family. We'll have somewhere to stay.:

:Any priests in the family who won't care that I'm Drachman?:

Ted snorted, almost choking on a laugh. :No priests in my family…at all. There's no law in Amestris about _marrying_ a non-citizen. As long as they let you stay in the country, the government can't tell us what to do with our lives.:

:But what if they _don't_ Ted? No matter what we want, they could say that they're not letting us in the country. What if they _do_ arrest you for desertion, and don't let us in? What happens then?:

He looked like she'd punched him in the stomach, but she had to ask. They needed to know how they were going to handle it if the worse scenarios happened. :I… I don't know,: he finally admitted. :But I won't let them separate us. Where you go, I go. Even if it means I don't go home.:

:Ever?:

:Ever.:

:Ted…do you realize what you're saying?: Anika asked, feeling her own heart aching deep down. :You're giving up _everything_ if that happens. Your parents, your family, your friends… your reputation….your career…:

Ted shook his head. :Not everything. I knew what I was risking when I left. After I got home you really were _all_ I could think about. Anytime there wasn't work to be done, and sometimes when there was, I could hear you in my head. I could remember every conversation we had, and even the smell of your soap. Not being with you… it was driving me _insane._ I needed to know if you felt the same…. If you feel the same now? Because I still do… I would do _anything_ to keep us together, even go back to Drachma if you wanted, but… only as long as you want to be with me. After everything we've been through, I'd understand if you didn't. Hell, I couldn't even get the other women I thought I liked to go _out_ with me. Sometimes I'm still not even sure why you're with me. I just… I want us to be together only if we both want it.:

Anika had not expected the conversation to turn that direction so suddenly, right on the heels of her own earlier uncertainty. It took her a moment to find her tongue. :Ted… I…"

His face fell at her hesitation. :No. I get it. It's … " His grip loosened, and he started to back away.

Anika grabbed the collar of his shirt. :No! You don't get it! Now wait and _let me speak_.:

Ted froze.

:Better.: Anika took a deep, calming breath, and tried to gather her thoughts. :Ted… this whole thing it… it feels like we're living in a drama…or a nightmare. Except that sometimes… sometimes it's not so bad, because you're here. I don't know if that makes any sense. I'm giving up everything too. Maybe not forever, but right now I've lost…my country, and I can't go back to my family, or a job I _loved_. _Nothing_ is certain anymore, and none of this was anywhere in my life plan a year ago. Not a war, or losing the zoo, or meeting _you_ … and definitely not becoming a mother: Her grip tightened as her hands trembled with emotion. :I _do_ love you…and I want to be with you, but there are times I still wonder if I'm completely crazy, or if we're _both_ crazy, and the fact that we're relying on a lot of luck right now is _not_ reassuring.:

Ted nodded. :Can…can I breathe?:

Anika released her hold. :I suppose so.: Her hands slid down from his neck to his chest. :I'd started to think maybe I knew as much about combat as some of the soldiers I know, with everything we've been through. I've killed people. I've been shot at but… I realized the other night that being a crack shot sniper isn't nearly enough. The way you… _dispatched_ the dead was unnerving. I realize now it was necessary but…:

When she looked up, there was realization on Ted's face. :Oh, hells. I'm sorry. That's just what you _do_ with the bodies if you can, to make sure no one's faking death, or might come after you, or survive to report what happened. It's gruesome, and I hate doing it, but it was necessary.:

:Like I said, I get it. It just seems so cold.:

:It _is_ ,: Ted nodded. :War is heartless and brutal. I just did my job. I didn't want to make anyone else do it. Then I asked you to get their ammunition, didn't I? Shit.:

Weirdly, it made her feel better. She'd been there, he'd told her to do something he'd have told any soldier who happened to be there. This reaction though, this was the Ted she knew and understood. :I'll get over it,: she assured him. :It was a shock, though. You are… a different person, in combat.:

Ted's face flushed. :Most people are. It's the only way to stay sane afterwards. Well, what little sanity we had to begin with. We're all a little nuts, especially State Alchemists.:

:I'd noticed.: Anika leaned in and kissed his cheek. :I know we'll figure everything out. I just wish we had _some_ kind of assurance that this was going to work out, besides luck and positive thinking.:

Ted smiled sheepishly. :Well, both of them have gotten me this far.:

:And you should learn to quit while you're ahead,: she suggested, the last word punctuated with a jaw-splitting yawn. Anika had no idea what time it was, other than it was late. The sun had gone down at least a couple of hours before. :Or tomorrow you're going to _have_ a head.:

:You underestimate me, m'lady,: Ted chuckled. :As did your friend and your brother when they challenged me.:

:This was on _purpose?_ : She didn't want to know what shape Niki and Fyo were in.

The look on Ted's face made her wish she hadn't said anything. :I think I can sleep now.: He took a step back and turned towards the camp, the lamp casting his shadow in start relief against the broken wall. His features cast half in shadow, there was nothing boyish or smiling about the man in the dark. Not imposing, but a hint of the otherworldly. Anika wondered, if Ted looked like his Grandfather as much as he claimed, if he looked like his Great-grandfather…the ancient alchemist.

Then she realized he had turned, and was looking at her. :Are you coming?:

Nodding, Anika hurried to catch up with him. :Got room in your blanket for two?:

Ted didn't look at her, but she thought she caught a bit of a smile on his face as his hand reached out, his fingers twining with hers. :As long as it's you.:


	47. Chapter 47

**August 13** **th** **, 1990**

The small town of Posterum, just inside the Amestrian border, was as remote and dusty as Ted remembered the region to be. It was also nearly as abandoned. They had little trouble slipping the entire caravan of trucks across the border. Not that Ted didn't expect their tracks to be noticed, coming in off the desert, but by the time anyone tracked them down, he hoped to either be long gone, or have documents permitting him to bring five Drachmans and dozens of exotic animals into the country legally.

He refused to let them be arrested with him, however, if it came to that. So, he had made them park over a mile outside of town to wait for him. At least, that was the plan, until Gavril Mihalov insisted on coming with him. :I can prove who I am,: he insisted, pulling out his wallet which did have all of his identification. :Refugee or not, I'm valuable and your government knows it. I'll take the risk.:

Ted hadn't argued. For one thing, he didn't think it would do any good. For another, it made him feel mildly better not to be going alone, and to have someone to corroborate his story. Gavril Mihalov's face had been all over the news, even in Amestris. Surely the story would be believable. The question was, what did the military think of _him?_  
He would know shortly. While there wasn't a full military garrison in Posterum, there were several mines in the area, including the mining town of Yous Well, to the south, that had military oversight. This meant that like most towns in Amestris, there was _a_ military office, even if half of its business was local recruitment.

Posterum's office was near the train station, which was also convenient.

Ted hadn't taken any clothing that looked even remotely like an Amestrian military uniform with him, so he'd had to settle for the cleanest set of civilian attire he had with him that might even remotely suggest the part, which was a pair of dark blue denim pants, and a button-down white shirt. He had shaved that morning, so at least he didn't look like a refugee, and debated for several minutes what to do about the shaggy mop his hair had become in the past several months. He hadn't bothered cutting it in Drachma. On a whim, he tried pulling it back the way his grandfather did. It wasn't nearly as long of a tail, but it was long enough it didn't look like some stupid fashion trend. It also made Ted look—he felt—even more like Edward Elric. Right now, he'd take every advantage that might give him.

"Here we go." Ted did not hesitate as they walked up to the building, and he opened the door, leading Gavril inside.

It was a very small office, consisting primarily of a front counter, which boasted recruitment materials, and a couple of desks behind it. There were two officers in evidence, one male, the other female, one second lieutenant and one first. Just his luck, he outranked them.

"Good afternoon, sirs," the female first lieutenant came forward to the counter. "What can I do for you?"

This was it. Ted nodded. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Actually, I'm hoping you can do something very important for me. Lieutenant Colonel Ted Elric, Proteus Alchemist, military ID four-five-nine-alpha-theta-gamma-six. I've been undercover in Drachma for the past four months and I need to place a secure-line call to Central command. It's a matter of International urgency."

To their credit, neither officer stared at him for more than a few seconds. He could guess what was going through their minds though, from the disbelief, to the risks of not believing him, to the risks of believing too readily, to wondering why anyone would make up such an outrageous story, to how to have him prove his identity. He had just provided his full military title and ID number. No one else should have that information besides his own ranking officers. A remote post like this would probably need to call Central to verify that number.

It was the first lieutenant who recovered first. "I'll need to verify your identification. I don't suppose you have any of that on you, if you've been undercover in Drachma."  
Ted shook his head. "I do not. Though if you dial Central Headquarters extension six-four-five-eight you'll reach General Calvin Fischer, Whitewater Alchemist, who is my direct superior officer and he can verify my identity."

She looked skeptical, but she picked up the phone at her desk, and dialed, waiting while it rang once, then again. Ted desperately hoped Cal was _in_ his office. It was only two in the afternoon, but who knew what meetings he might be in these days with Drachma imploding.

After six rings, the other end picked up, and Ted could barely hear Fischer's familiar tones.

"Good afternoon, General Fischer. This is First Lieutenant Sarah Flinn at the military office in Posterum." She listened, then nodded again. "Yes, Sir, Posterum. I'm calling in regards to a man standing in our office who claims to be State Alchemist Ted Elric."

For a moment, Ted thought Fischer might have dropped the phone, given the startled noise he heard on the other end, and a moment of silence.

Flinn continued a moment later. "Yes, Sir. He gave his ID as four-five-nine-alpha-theta-gamma-six." She listened for a few more seconds, then her eyes widened slightly, and

she held the phone out to Ted. "The General would like to speak to you."

Ted tried not to grin as he took the phone. "Lieutenant Colonel Elric speaking."

"What in _bloody freaking' hell_ are you doing in Posterum, Proteus?"

"It's nice to hear your dulcet tones again too, Sir."

The sputtering finally ended in a snort of laughter. "You're still an ass. Now answer my questions, because your answers are very much going to affect how much deep shit you're in."

"Yes, Sir. To answer your direct question first, I've just circumvented the border by leaving Drachma through the desert, with very precious cargo that the President and the Assembly are going to want in their possession immediately."

"And what cargo is _that_ , Elric?"

"Former interim-Drachman-president-in-exile Gavril Mihalov."

The two people in front of him looked like they were going to fall out of their chairs staring at Gavril, who just smiled and held out his wallet for their inspection.

On the other end of the line, Fischer had gone dead quiet. "You're serious."

"Dead serious. I was the head of the team that pulled him out of Karmatsk after Savahin's soldiers."

"Does that mean you have more people with you?" Fischer asked warily.

"Yes, Sir. I have four civilians, and several truck loads of expensive exotic zoo animals we liberated before they could become lining for Savahin's bank account."

Another moment of silence. Ted suspected Fischer was almost regretting this call. " _Zoo animals?_ "

"They were on our way out. The civilians with me are some of their keepers that were being forced to prepare them for sale. It's a really long and complicated story. So long story short, none of them are Savahin spies, most of us are injured, and I need to get a very important person to Headquarters. Everyone is willing to submit to being taken under military guard. They're mostly just concerned about their animals. You could probably lock them in cages in the zoo and as long as they could take care of them, they wouldn't complain."

"It might come to that. Damn it, Proteus. Why'd you have them call my number?"

"Because I like to make your life complicated, Sir."

Fischer grumbled on the other end of the line. "If your timing weren't so damned perfect, I'd tell them to lock you up in Posterum for a week."

"But my timing is perfect." Ted wasn't sure what for, but he would bet it was their ticket to Central.

"Yes. So perfect it's a little scary. Well, I'd better do this right. Put Mihalov on. I'm going to have to be able to tell Heimler I actually talked to the man."

"Wise choice." Ted handed the phone over to Gavril as he stepped out of the way. Fischer and Mihalov had met during the brief and hectic rescue and retreat out of Karmatsk before. "General Fischer would like to say hello."

"I'd be delighted." Gavril smiled as he reached for the phone. "Good afternoon, General. It's nice to speak with you again."

Ted _could_ believe his luck, though he smiled as he considered that Anika was probably going to be both relieved and irritated that he'd squeaked through again. At least, they were getting into the country.

Gavril and Fischer spoke for several minutes, until Fischer was convinced that Gavril was in fact, the same Gavril Mihalov he had spoken to in Karmatsk. Then the phone passed back to Lieutenant Flinn, and then once more to Ted.

"I want you to bring all of them in to Posterum," Fischer ordered. "There's a train leaving Posterum tonight for Central and I want all of you on it. I've already got staff calling the railroad and ordering them to clear cargo cars for your trucks. If you have weapons, you'll be turning over all of them to Colonel Hawkens when she arrives from Yous Well in four hours. She, and the officers she brings with her, will be escorting you on the train here on a non-stop route straight to Central. You _will_ be here by Monday evening, ready to give a full and detailed debriefing and _all_ of the information you've gathered in the past several months. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. This had better be one _hell_ of an explanation, Ted. A lot is riding on it."

* * *

Franz almost choked on his cup of tea as he stared at Cal Fischer over the clutter on his desk. " _Say that again?_ "

"Ted's back," Cal repeated, looking both stunned and a little smug, "and he's got Gavril Mihalov with him. I can confirm it, we spoke for several minutes about a conversation we had in Karmatsk last spring, and I recognize the voice. It's definitely him."

"I'm not sure whether to kill him or hug him. His timing is, as always, ridiculously good." Franz shook his head. Months of _nothing_ except the rumors from intelligence of an alchemist working in the mountains with the resistance, and suddenly here was Ted, coming in _without_ crossing the technically closed border, with a man the current Drachman regime would kill for their hands on, and _had_ been killing for. He was sure there was much, much more to this story, but given the summit beginning in two days, this was a game changing piece of information. "Tell me everything you know."

He listened as Cal outlined his orders, which Franz could find no fault in, that Ted, Mihalov, and the civilians and zoo animals—he really wanted that story at some point—were being brought under military escort on an express train and would be arriving the evening of the first day of the summit.

"Good. That's all we can do for the moment until they get here. Then Proteus can answer for his insubordination."

Cal winced, but didn't try to say anything in Ted's defense. "Does this change the agenda for the Summit?" he asked instead.

A critical question. Franz shook his head. "No, not for the first day. Until they arrive, and we know the full story, it's better to keep all of this classified. Once we know what we have, we'll move on it."

Cal nodded, and stood. "Then I'll get back to work. Does that mean we don't call Resembool?"

As much as he hated to do it, Franz nodded. " _No one_ is told anything until they arrive in Central and are safely in military custody." He just hoped that Cassie and Aldon would forgive him later for not telling them immediately upon hearing word that Ted was safe, and on his way back.

It also depended on if there was any way to keep him out of prison.

* * *

As the train pulled out of the station into the rapidly falling night, Anika leaned back in her seat, and looked out the window at the unfamiliar landscape falling away behind them, and what she could see ahead. This far out, the desert was slowly turning to scrub, and she could see mountains looming in the distance; older mountains, lower than the huge peaks of Drachma, and not as jagged.

When Ted and Gavril had returned with a military escort to bring them into town, Anika had been terrified that they were going to be arrested, but Ted and Gavril's calm at the whole affair had relaxed her. She was grateful she had been working on her Amestrian with Ted over the past few months, or she'd have been at a loss to understand most of what the Amestrian soldiers said to them. Her one previous trip into Amestris had been years ago, and none of it had involved military terms. They had taken their weapons—which she expected—and then had them drive into town, parking in the train yard itself by the loading docks, where it was explained that their trucks would be driven up ramps and directly _into_ large freight cars, and secured.

They were going straight to Central, and the animals were coming with them. Anika wasn't sure _how_ Ted had managed it. She also wasn't entirely certain if their escort was for the people's protection, or _theirs._

In either case, while the Colonel in charge and the men and women she had brought with her to guard them were professional, they weren't treating them like prisoners either as long as they were cooperating.

There had been almost four hours between their arrival in town and the train's departure. During that time, they had been escorted to the local hotel, which was a small two-story building next to the train station, and permitted to shower, and given a clean set of clothing for the trip. Then they'd had a local doctor check over everyone's wounds and apply disinfectant, and clean bandages.

While their Drachman money was useless here, the Colonel had them order from the hotel's dining room and eat as well. Ted said she'd told him they were pulling the money out of his spending account.

Then they'd gone back to the station to wait, loaded the trucks, and been put in the car farthest back on the train, the last passenger car before the cargo, which they had all to themselves. Well them, and the _ten_ soldiers serving as escort.

It was nerve-wracking, but she appreciated being taken seriously. If they were being escorted straight to Central, that meant the government wanted to talk to Gavril Mihalov.

It might not mean much for the rest of them, but it bade well that they had included transportation for the animals.

Ted sat beside her, his left arm extended protectively behind her and around her shoulders. _His_ change of clothes was a spare military shirt, pants, and boots. Anika had never seen him in uniform, given the alchemists had all been trying _not_ to be noticed on the mission where they had originally met. He carried himself differently in uniform, and around these people, though she wondered if he even noticed. He sat a little taller, and there was a confidence that she certainly didn't feel.

Anika had never considered herself to be someone easily intimidated, but she had also never been out of Drachma in these kinds of circumstances before, and even if the soldiers with them were more escort than prison guards, the fact that she only understood about half of what she heard, and the unfamiliar look of even subtle things, like the architecture, the food in the restaurants, the design of the train; all of it was foreign, and she was unarmed on soil that was not necessarily much more friendly than the civil war going on back home.

"You okay?" Ted asked softly.

"I'm fine," she replied, leaning a little into him, but gently, to avoid hurting his injured shoulder. "It's just _different._ The only familiar things in here are a few people. Even my clothes aren't mine." While she appreciated being in clean clothes that fit, they were definitely not anything she was used to. Someone had dug up actual maternity wear from somewhere for her, instead of making due with the oversized items and ad-hoc adjustments she'd made to her own wardrobe. The soft-knit pants and roomy slate-blue tunic style shirt, with darker embroidery around the neckline, were incredibly soft, and surprisingly fashionable, but in her mind, it somehow made her look even _more_ pregnant. What did these people think of her? Was it better to be thought of just some civilian refugee, or a resistance fighter with experience and the daughter of a general?

"I understand." He kissed the top of her head, and she realized he probably did. He'd spent the last several months learning to live in a country that was nothing like his own. Now, it was her turn. "It'll be okay." Ted sounded far more confident than he had in the ruins of Xerxes.

"How do you know?"

"Well, for one thing, they're all too relaxed to be expecting actual trouble."

Anika glanced at the soldiers. All of them looked alert, watching their charges, though they would occasionally make comments to each other. They were armed, she knew, but no one was actively holding a weapon. There was no heightened tension in the air. "I see."

"Also, they didn't detain us. People crossing the border illegally are usually detained on location for several days and questioned. We're being given a private express ride to Headquarters. That means we were right that they want Gavril in hand, and I will bet you a year's pay that it's to protect him and for information, not to lock him, or any of you, up."

The fact that he did not include himself in that statement concerned her. "What about you?"

"That depends on what my uncle decided to do after I left the room, and what he tells people when we get back. A lot of that is going to be determined by on my report, I expect. But, let's worry about that later. Right now, we've got two days in a semi-private train car, in surprisingly almost-comfortable padded seats, and food and drink on demand. We're not driving through the desert, or being shot at, or sleeping on rocks. Think of it as a short term, very exclusive private vacation."

Now there was some positive thinking. Anika chuckled. "We still have to take care of the animals." No one working for the railroad was going to want to go anywhere near those cars with the carnivores in them, even if they did know how to take care of any of the animals.

"Not for a few hours," Ted countered. "Right now seems like a good time to catch up on rest while we can."

They were certainly going to have a lot on their plate when they reached Central. He had the right idea, and the seats were weirdly comfortable after days in trucks and rough camping. "Sleep sounds good." Ted wouldn't let anything happen to her. After days of being constantly wired to jump awake at the smallest noise, it would be nice to just _rest_.

Ted's arm tightened just a little around her shoulders as his head rested lightly against hers. "Glad you agree."


	48. Chapter 48

**August 15** **th** **, 1990**

If it weren't for the seriousness of the matter, and the attendance of the diplomats who regularly lived at the Embassies in Central, Franz would have thought the group sitting around his large conference room table, and in the couple of rows of chairs set in tight around it, was more like a bizarre extended family reunion. While most of the governments had agreed that the Presidents, Emperors, and other rulers themselves needed to remain where they were to avoid drawing attention to the meeting, the people they had sent as their direct proxies were effective if ironic choices. From Xing, they had sent retired-Emperor Mao and his wife, who had come in quietly late the evening before, and were staying with Mao's sister, Ren, and Will at their house now that they had returned that summer from Will's Sabbatical.

What made it look like a family reunion was that President Argyros had sent his son, Thrakos in his place, which meant he had come with Minxia and their son. Franz was sure there was a lot of very enjoyable reunion happening in Will and Ren's house, since they were _also_ staying with Minxia's parents. If nothing else, it looked like a very crammed family reunion weekend for them in particular.

Franz did not personally know the representatives from Aerugo and Kartos, but they were of equal importance. The Aerugean attendee was a junior member of their ruling council, a woman in her early thirties, named Noa Ciprian. She had been a lawyer before running for and being elected to Aerugo's governing body.

Kartos had sent what amounted to their first diplomatic envoys ever, choosing a member of their equivalent of the Assembly. While Svendel Olksen was at least in his forties and a civil servant, he looked more like one of Amestris' state alchemists, if they had shoulder-length blond hair and a trimmed beard.

Drachma's presence was mostly a formality, since the Drachman Ambassador, Lisana Morovich, was no longer in active communication with the Drachman government. Or rather, the new Drachman government. Not only were they not permitted to call out, but Amestris had kept the lines tapped in case someone from Drachma tried to call _in._ No one from Savahin's regime had many any attempts to contact their predecessors' representatives. That, as much as anything else, had made Morovich and her colleagues very cooperative with anything Franz asked.

 _None_ of them knew about who was approaching Central by train. The only people who had any knowledge were Fischer, Closson, a couple of other ranking members of Franz's staff, and Sara.

For now, it was time to put that out of his head, and focus on the original plan, and the reasons for the meeting.

Given its sensitive nature, there were only about twenty people in the room, including a couple of ranking Assemblymen, Generals, and the representatives from the different countries, and a couple of staffers each.

Franz looked around from where he stood at the head of the room, the large map of Amestris and its neighbors looming behind him. "Good morning. I'd like to start by thanking each of you for coming, some of you from very long distance in a very short time, to represent your governments at this summit meeting. Over the next few days, we will be sharing intelligence information about what is currently happening in Drachma, possible scenarios and outcomes of the conflict, and what we may, individually or together, need to do in those instances for the best interests of our homelands, and their citizens. We have representatives here today from not just Amestris, but Aerugo, Creta, Xing, and—for the first time—Kartos. This is a momentous occasion, and while I regret that current events have forced it to be necessary, I do hope that this will create continued and new positive relations between our countries. You will note that I have asked Ms. Morovich, the Ambassador of the previous Drachman government, to be present at these proceedings, not only for her knowledge, but to represent the innocent civilians in Drachma who are _not_ being spoken for by the current regime, which has cut off political ties with _all_ of us at present. As we know, right now, no one is suffering as much as the citizens of Drachma itself, and that is a perspective we need to keep as we consider any contingency plans we may need to employ going forward."

There was a general subtle nodding of heads around the room, from anyone who moved at all. It was encouraging, however, that no one scowled or voiced objections.

Franz continued. "This morning's session will be primarily informative. I'd like each representative to speak regarding their country's current feelings regarding any involvement on your parts regarding the Drachma situation. When we reconvene this afternoon, we will begin with the intelligence reports." Another general round of nods of agreement. Of course, they had all been given the general schedule upon their arrival in Central, so this was not news. "To begin, I have asked Ms. Morovich to say a few words." He nodded to her.

Looking remarkably composed, even though he knew she was nervous, Lisana Morovich stood. The carefully pre-planned seating placed her between Creta and Xing which, Franz hoped, would be a less threatening position at the table than some others. Morovich looked around the room, making eye contact with each of the other delegates present. "I wish to thank you, too, for coming," she began in a smooth, clear tone. "It pains me, as it does all of us here at the Embassy, what has happened in our country. Know that it is not what we wanted, and not what we stand for. Not us, nor many of the Drachman people. We will offer you what help we can, in the good faith that whatever your actions, you will do your best to do no further harm, and hopefully help, the Drachman people." When she finished, she sat down.

Franz nodded. "Thank you, Ms. Morovich. Creta, if you would please speak next."

Thrakos Argyros and—interestingly enough—Minxia Elric Argyros, were both there in an official capacity. Franz thought that said a lot about how highly the Argyros family regarded their daughter-in-law. Of course, if there was anyone who was as widely travelled as she in the room, there weren't many. The Cretan Ambassador sat beside them. It was Thrakos who stood to speak. The normally jovial dark-haired man's face was almost unnaturally serious, and Franz did not think he'd ever seen him look more like his father, or his grandfather. "Creta wishes to thank Amestris for calling this summit together, and being willing to host all of us in this endeavor. It is presently Creta's wish that all attempts be made to move forward with plans that avoid actively instigating combat if at all possible, suing for peaceful solutions. That said, should it become unavoidable, as always, Creta will honor its alliances with its neighbors in defending their borders, with the understanding that if Drachma should broach the Cretan border, its neighbors will offer the same protection."

The stance Franz had known to expect, as Creta preferred to remain out of conflict unless necessary, and tended to focus on defending its own borders rather than being an aggressor. Still, it was a more promising situation than during the terms of the President between the two Presidents Argyros. That had been a period of unusually strong isolationism for Creta on many friends, except for the exact letter of any diplomatic treaties between countries.

Retired-Emperor Mao spoke for Xing. "The Xing Empire stands by those who stand with the Empire, now and for always. We sent aid to Amestris during the last war with Drachma, and Amestris defended and restored the rulers of Xing when dissent in our own borders created a civil war not unlike the one currently faced in Drachma. Our sympathies and concern are also for the civilian people of Drachma who are trying to live their lives under fear and threat. Whether our actions forward are diplomatic, defensive, or offensive, Xing is prepared to provide whatever manpower, supplies, or funds necessary."

While Franz had expected support from Xing, especially after their involvement in the restoration of the Imperial Family, as Mao had mentioned, that was not only a strong voice of support, but an aggressive one. Of course, the Hashman Syndicate's involvement, and illegal activities, in Xing, and their ties to the current regime in Drachma, were unlikely to make Mao or his son look favorably upon the new leadership.

Svendel Olksen of Kartos spoke next. When he stood, he was tall enough he towered over everyone. "Kartos is prepared to do whatever is necessary to keep Drachma in Drachma. For generations, they have attacked us on and off again, trying to conquer enough land to build a seaport, and we have held them back. While we have historically done this alone, we are concerned that should Drachma put the full might of its army into making that a priority, particularly in the light of new technologies about which we've been hearing," the glint in his eyes said he was very eager to hear more information about _airplanes,_ "we will not be able to stand alone. We are not a large country, but we have a strong military, and long tradition. _Diplomacy_ , well, that may take us a bit longer to learn." He chuckled slightly at that last, and there was a soft rustle of amusement in the room.

Noa Ciprian of Aerugo had a less exuberant, but no less heartening message. "While Aerugo does not share a border with Drachma, and is likely in no immediate danger herself, we do not forget the aide given to us by Amestris, during times of great need, nor our neighbors to the West, in Creta, with whom we have generally been at peace. While we have cut back our military in recent years, due to budget saving measures and a lack of necessity, we have plenty of material goods, and funds, should they be needed, to support any endeavors voted upon by this alliance."

A universal agreement then, that no country would sit out should it come to the worst, though they would have to _agree_ that it had come to that point. Cautious agreement, as it was clear that most countries—Creta and Aerugo in particular, as much as Amestris had so far—would prefer not to get in a war with Drachma. Particularly not with a violent madman running the country.

"Thank you." Franz took charge of the meeting again when everyone had spoken. "It's good to know that, on the whole, we are in agreement in our support of each other in matters of defense. Now then, let's get down to details."

* * *

The train arrived at Central Station just before dark, almost exactly two days since it had left the border town of Posterum. During that time, Ted had done his best to help his Drachman colleagues adjust, and prepare them for what was likely to happen when they reached Central. Since most of what he wanted to say was hardly secret, he had no problem explaining it in front of the soldiers, or in Amestrian, then repeating it in Drachman if needed. He didn't want the soldiers thinking they were planning anything other than what was happening. Particularly since getting back to Central quickly had been _exactly_ what Ted wanted.

That did not make it a relaxing journey, even in a relatively comfortable train, with food available whenever they wanted, and the animals safely nearby where they could be checked on at regular intervals. There wasn't quite enough time to get bored, either, though the soldiers had been more than willing to loan out their deck of cards, which kept them all busy.

Ted suspected that their arrival was being kept quiet, and he wished he knew what they were walking into. It smelled of politics. So, he was not surprised to be the last ones off the train, or to find when they stepped off the train that there were military officers waiting for them on the platform to escort them to wherever they were being taken.  
The train had been pulled in to the far end of the station, on the most remote platform, which was entirely empty. There were, for the moment, no other trains in the station with people getting on or off, given the off-schedule hour of their arrival as well.

What Ted had not expected was who would be waiting for them specifically, since he recognized both of the officers. "Shock? James?"

Tore Closson stood on the platform next to James Heimler. Behind them, two military police officers studiously both paying attention and yet making a point of not listening in too closely to what was being said.

 _Wow, they really are keeping this hush._

Closson nodded briskly, but gave an uncharacteristically unemotional, "Elric," before turning to the Colonel who had escorted them. "Thank you for your work. If you will help us escort them to the cars, and see to the unloading and delivery of the animals, your task will be complete, and there are rooms waiting for you at the Severn." That was the hotel near headquarters most military stayed at if they were coming in from out of town.

Ted had already warned everyone that they would probably _not_ be allowed to accompany their animals to the zoo immediately, so while there were several tight faces, no one voiced an objection. He trusted that the zoo would take good care of them, and that no one would dare hurt them.

Anika looked like she still wanted to object though. She wasn't good at hiding her disapproval.

Given the lack of address by either Closson or James, Ted figured it was best not to ask questions on a public platform. He followed along with the others until they got to the main station, and were taken out a side door to waiting cars. They were then split. A military police officer got into the driver's seat of each vehicle. Closson and James each got into the other front seat, while Ted, Anika, and Gavril were put in the back of the vehicle with Closson, and the other three four were put in the other, slightly larger car.

As they pulled away, Ted felt it was safe to speak. "Where are we going?"

Closson didn't turn around, but Ted could see him glance back in the rear-view mirror. "Somewhere we can talk."

Frustrated, Ted leaned back into the seat. Beside him, Anika looked tense. To an outsider she probably looked alert, aware, but outwardly calm. Ted knew that she was half-way to terrified and hiding it incredibly well. In Drachma, this kind of situation could end in an execution. They didn't do that kind of thing in Amestris. Well, not anymore.  
Gavril seemed almost too calm, if pensive, as he simply sat, hands crossed on his lap, watching Central go by out the window.

Ted focused on where they were making turns, and before long, he had a suspicion he knew where they were headed; a suspicion that turned out to be right as they were led through the large metal gates into the brick-walled property that housed the Drachman Embassy in Central.

When the cars stopped, they were all escorted inside, down a hallway, and into what proved to be the sitting room. Waiting for them, in full uniform, was President Heimler.

Ted felt his blood run cold as his uncle stood. There was no smile here, and no invitation for him to speak.

Instead, Franz turned to Gavril, and extended a hand. "Gavril Mihalov, it is a singular pleasure to see you alive and well."

Gavril smiled, and took the offered hand, shaking it firmly. "President Heimler, it is an honor to meet you in person, and believe me, it is my pleasure to _be_ alive and well in the current circumstances."

"I am very much looking forward to hearing how all this has come about," Franz nodded. "You've had a very long trip. All of you have." He looked around the room then, taking in the rest of the faces in the room. :Do any of you speak Amestrian?: he asked then in careful Drachman.

Anika just nodded. Niki nodded as well, answering :Fairly well, Sir.:

Mrs. Volkova, Fyo, and Liena all shook their heads.

:Very well then. We will speak tonight in Drachman. Please excuse my accent. I am out of practice.: That got him a couple of nervous smiles. :As you might expect, we have many questions, for all of you. First, let me assure you that we have arranged for all of the animals you brought with you to be taken to our city zoo for the time being. They will be taken care of, and given room to stay in the quarantine area, and some of the off-exhibit habitat spaces. You will be permitted to see them and care for them tomorrow. Second, a meal has been prepared for you all in the dining room. I thought it would be more prudent to hear your story while you eat. For the time being, you will be living here, at the Embassy. While the governing parties in Petrayevka no longer recognize this Embassy as speaking for Drachma, it has been neutral territory for over twenty years, and continues to be considered as such by Amestris, and its allies. This also means that, by international law, as the new government has no claim to this land, they cannot extradite you should they learn of your existence here.:

This had been very well thought out for only two days warning. His speech, clearly designed to put the Drachmans at ease, seemed to be working. Ted couldn't help but be impressed.

:Ambassador Lisana Morovich and her staff are still here as well, and will be able to explain to you the political situation as it stands, at least as far as we know. What we hope to find out tonight, is what you all may know, that we don't. Please know that, despite the guards that have been assigned to you, you are not prisoners, nor are you in any danger so long as you follow the laws of the country. The guards assigned to the Embassy were all chosen for their skills, and the fact that all of them have a working knowledge of the Drachman language. They will be able to explain anything you do not understand or may wish to know about our laws and customs. Once we have done the appropriate background checks and can give you all _legal_ paperwork, permitting you officially to be in the country, you will be free to leave the embassy without escort within the next couple of weeks, though we ask you to please remain in Central. Now, come, dinner is waiting.:

Ted was itching to demand answers to the dozens of questions he had, but he restrained himself. His commanding officer—presuming he was still a military officer until directly told otherwise—had not requested his report yet, nor even greeted him. Ted couldn't decide if he was avoiding showing favoritism, or if that was a bridge he had well and truly burned with his behavior the last time they had stood face to face. Closson and James' behavior had not given him any clues either.

He supposed he should not have been surprised to see Cal Fischer at the table with the Drachman Ambassador, and her two aides, along with Closson. Fischer and Gavril had met before, in Karmatsk, and he already knew about this whole fiasco.

Ted _was_ startled to see Alyse Fischer, Charisa Closson, and his aunt Sara. Okay, so his Aunt was a General in her own right, and Charisa Closson was a member of the Assembly, but no matter how he sliced it, Alyse was a civilian. Still, it looked almost like a dinner party instead of a questioning session for recently arrived refugees.  
As the general introductions began, Ted realized that was _exactly_ the point. They were putting the Drachmans at ease, and making them welcome, because they would be more inclined to talk freely and without reservation. They would be less likely, in any case, to lie.

The Amestrians at the table introduced themselves first, and Cal and Gavril exchanged a hearty handshake, and then it was their party's turn.

Mihalov everyone knew of course, but that didn't keep him from politely shaking hands with Morovich, and thanking her for her work and her continued efforts on Drachma's behalf. She, and her aides, were a bit flustered and appreciative. He congratulated Sara on her recovery and return to duty, and bowed over the hands of Charisa and Alyse.

Only _then_ did Franz turn to Ted directly. "Would you make the rest of the introductions, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"Of course, Sir." Ted turned and motioned to each of the other Drachmans in turn. "This is Dinara Volkova, senior curator and animal trainer at the Drachman National Zoo in Petrayevka." He then repeated it in Drachman. He was fairly certain neither Charisa nor Alyse spoke Drachman, and he wondered how the rest of the evening's conversation was going to go.

Mrs. Volkova came forward, politely shaking hands, and exchanging pleasantries in Drachman. When she wasn't sure what to say, she simply smiled and clasped hands.  
"This is Fyo Doron, and Liena Sarofsky, both zoologists and animal trainers at the Zoo, specializing in big cats and canines."

Fyo was his usual smiling, exuberant self despite his nerves. He made up for not knowing Amestrian by flattering them in Drachman anyway, and kissing hands in the most old fashioned and yet complimentary way possible, making it clear he was _not_ actually flirting.

Liena was more demure, and nervous, but did just fine.

Ted's heart beat a little faster as they moved through the introductions. "This is Niki Marskaya, son of General Vichel Marskaya, and manager of the Marskaya Distillery."

"When I'm not fighting to oust bloodthirsty dictators," Niki chuckled as he shook hands with everyone with a calm grin. He surprised Ted when he got to Cal and his smile widened. "It is good to see you again," he exclaimed as they clasped hands tightly.

Fischer chuckled. "Under similarly complex circumstances as well. I hope you'll find our hospitality just as enjoyable as I found yours. Though I'm afraid the vodka can't compare."

That got a laugh out of Niki, and Ted wondered _when_ the two had met before. It must have been when they used the Marskaya estate as a stopping point on the evacuation flights. At least, that was the only possibility he was coming up with.

 _Now_ he got a very meaningful look both from Fischer, and from his uncle. Ted looked at Anika, who gave him a small smile as she stepped forward. "I am Anika Marskaya, daughter of General Vichel Marskaya, resistance fighter, and former head of Exotic Cats at the Drachman National Zoo." She moved to shake hands with everyone, thanking them like everyone else had, for having them, and expressing more eloquently than the others had been able to, how much she appreciated their animals being allowed into the country and the care they would be given.

Then they all sat down to eat. Ted noted immediately that some thought had been given to the table seating arrangement as well. While his uncle took the head of the table, with Aunt Sara to his right, Gavril was seated directly to his left, next to the Drachman Ambassador. Cal and Alyse Fischer sat beside Sara. The Drachman Aides sat at the foot of the table, where they could speak with Fyo, Mrs. Volkova, and Liena, who were clearly more at ease having native speakers beside them. Tore and Charisa Closson sat next to the Drachman Ambassador, and Ted found himself mid-table, between Anika and Charisa, with Niki across from him.

The food was good; a blend of Amestrian and Drachman dishes, with plenty for everyone, and for the first several minutes, people focused on eating. It wasn't until they were well into the food that Aunt Sara spoke up, looking across the table. "So, I think we're all dying to know what really happened in Karmatsk when the siege broke. How did you escape?"

Gavril sipped his wine. "Thanks to your State Alchemists' assistance, we already had more than one evacuation plan in place. When they broke through the walls, they came straight through the city to the Estate and the civilian population was mostly left alone as long as they stayed out of the way. They mobbed the estate, broke in the doors, and started to round up anyone who hadn't gotten out in time." He began to cut another piece out of the large steak on his plate. "They didn't count on us anticipating their arrival, but we didn't count on them arriving so quickly. We made it out into the city, but then they gave chase. We ran, and managed to escape to our hiding place, but not before I was shot in the side." He gestured to his healing wound, though it wasn't visible under his clothes.

Cal winced visibly.

Sara looked impressed. "How did you survive?"

"Actually, I have Mr. Elric and Miss Marskaya to thank for that." Gavril smiled, gesturing down the table. "They were able to get into the city, locate us, and then bring the surgical equipment our medic needed to perform the surgery needed to save my life. Though I'm told, before that, Mr. Elric was able to use alchemy to repair some of the internal damage before I bled to death."

Under other circumstances, Ted might have felt smug when _every_ Amestrian at the table turned to stare at him. Yes, he had done a modicum of alchemical healing, and it had succeeded. Now, however, was not the time to brag. "I just did what I could," he replied humbly. "We infiltrated the city disguised as local farmers coming in for supplies. It wasn't all that hard to convince them we had legitimate business in town. It also gave us an easy excuse to be in supply stores, grocers, and the hospital."  
No one yet had asked about Anika's very obvious pregnancy. Everyone who had come with him already knew, and Ted could only surmise that since he hadn't exactly been secretive about Anika's name around his family, that his uncle, aunt, Closson, and Fischer, at the very least, were probably making the very correct assumption that it was his.  
For now, that detail was not important apparently.

"And then you all snuck out of the city," Alyse spoke up. "They must have been looking for you, how did you manage it?"

Gavril nodded. "I can't take the credit for that either, as I was still recovering from surgery. These two hid me in a crate of vegetables and drove right out the city gates, with the guards none the wiser."

That brought about another round of chatter and commentary, and Ted was content to let the experienced politician take the lead on telling the entire story. He knew he would still have to give his entire report, in detail, later. He anticipated an intense grilling when this was over, but this was not the setting for it.

Gavril detailed out the plan to rescue the animals, always giving credit for ideas where they were due, and the chase, the battle, and their escape to recuperate at the ruins of Xerxes. "After that, we made our way to the border, and the rest you know," he finally finished as everyone was finishing their main meals. "While coming to Amestris was not the _original_ plan, it seems fortuitous to me that events have turned out this way. At least, I have a sense that I can be of more use here, than in a resistance cell. I'm a diplomat and civil servant, not a combat tactician."

"What makes you think that?" Sara asked. Ted had noticed that all the seemingly innocent yet prying questions had been coming from her, not Franz.

Gavril smiled slyly. "Dinner, for one. As well as I know Amestris is known for treating refugees well, _this_ is not how you treat people illegally crossing your borders. No one does, not without reason, and don't think for a moment I don't know that you know I know that."

Fischer snickered.

Gavril nodded. "That said, no country would sit by with a volatile wolf on their doorstep and do nothing. I presume, given how quickly you expedited our arrival and your efforts to keep it secret, that there is _something_ going on, and that is something in which my knowledge, or my person, maybe both, can be of use to you."

"That would be a fair assumption," Franz nodded.

"Political intrigue 101," Gavril quipped. "To continue, if I were worried about a large foreign nation that borders on multiple countries, and is known for its expansionist policies in times of regime change of this type, I would be speaking with every allied nation willing to organize, so that there is a unified plan in place for multiple contingencies. Twenty-six years ago, Drachma successfully, if temporarily, invaded and controlled almost one-quarter of Amestris. Your reticence to get involved militarily with Drachma again has been completely understandable, and I was impressed that you were willing to risk as much as you did to retrieve your people. Your vocal support of our government-in-exile, for as long as it lasted, was also an appreciated risk. I have been informed, by several members of the remaining Drachman resistance, that should I declare myself alive, and continue to speak out against Savahin, I could still garner enough support to rally a portion of Drachmans, though I am not inclined to do so without some assurance that they have hope of success. I will not lead innocent people to slaughter." He paused, sipping his wine again. "Which leads me to ask, should I offer my complete cooperation and all of my extensive knowledge of Drachman politics, _who_ Amestris is bringing in on its plans, what those plans are, and what, specifically you expect me to do?" There, he paused, leaving an expectant air around the table.

 _This guy is_ good _at this._ Ted waited, dying with just as much curiosity to find out what was going on that they were important. Or at least, Mihalov was important.

To his surprise, Franz's face broke into a smile. "A voice of conscience. Very well. You should know that your timing is quite precipitous, almost ironically so. This morning was the beginning of a summit between Amestris, Creta, Kartos, Aerugo, and Xing, specifically to discuss joint protection in the event that Drachma should choose to violate any borders, and also, if we _should_ in fact, make any considerations regarding taking action against Drachma at all."

"May I ask the tenor of the conversation thus far?"

"Defensive, primarily," Franz replied. That did not surprise Ted, given how incredibly strong the anti-war sentiment had been before he left. "Cooperative, but most countries seem to be of the opinion that we should shore up the borders and keep Drachma in Drachma."

"I see. And how do you feel about it?" Gavril's eyes moved from Franz, and landed on Sara. He glanced at Fischer then, and interestingly enough, Closson.

"I am not convinced that Drachma will stay in Drachma." Franz fingered the stem of his water goblet. "While it is _not_ my desire to get involved in another war with the Drachman army, I am not entirely convinced that we will be able to remain uninvolved, or that it is in our best interest to do so. Without a well-considered strategy, and allies on board, however, I am not going to approve actions that may cause more harm than good, particularly for the civilians of any country."

"Including Drachma?"

"Gavril," Sara leaned in slightly across the table. "I believe we can all agree that there are no people more in danger, and more disadvantaged at this moment, than the citizens of Drachma. Centuries of unstable and inconsistent government have led to varied and dramatic inequities. Not just from a class perspective, but in other ways. You are, I believe, one of the representatives in the government who had been pushing _for_ prison reform?"

Gavril paused, and Ted knew that was not the question he had been expecting. He also _had_ to know that Sara's rescue had come after several years in the Drachma prison system. "I am, or at least, I was. It's barbaric, underfunded, and full of people whose crimes were only disagreeing with this regime or that, often without trial. When those people left power, all of those cases should have been examined. It's been an issue for generations."

Sara nodded briskly. "As an inside expert, I agree. A huge number of the people I met in my time there are victims of the winds of change. Many of the rest were locked up and forgotten, sometimes for decades, for crimes that do not deserve a lifetime sentence. Many had served much longer than their actual sentencing, but had no recourse. Once you go into the system, most of the time, you're forgotten. Now, what would you say, if I told you that a large number of those people…possibly all of them, including the prison employees and those living in the towns near them, _hate_ Savahin, and all men like him? Especially the ones who have been in prison for twenty or more years. Which is, by the way, a large majority of the prisoners in Western Drachma."

"I'd say that's nearly a million Drachmans who would like to see Savahin and his ilk removed from control." Gavril looked thoughtful, and mildly impressed. "The question is, would they be willing to follow someone else, and what would they want in exchange?"

"A fair hearing, most of them," Sara replied as if it were something very simple. " _Out_ if they've served their time. Employment, and a chance to have a life again. The vast majority of them aren't a threat to anyone, and have long since regretted their actions, or the circumstances that led them there. Most of them would probably be willing to keep doing the work Drachma has had them doing as basically slave labor for decades."

"The mines." Gavril's eyes widened.

Sara nodded. "Almost seventy percent of Drachma's coal, metal ore, oil, minerals, and gemstones come out of those Western mountains. Cut off that supply—"

"—and we undermine Savahin's entire military operation," Gavril replied shrewdly. "Or rather, they do, given the provisions to cut off Savahin in the mountains. Which, could be doable. There are only a very few roads that lead all the way up to the plateaus at the top of the range. Most of them are windy back-country roads, and there's only one major highway, the one that runs from Trilonka to Petrayevka." He started to look excited, and there was a fire in his eyes that Ted hadn't seen before.

"Excuse me for cutting in here," Fischer raised a hand slightly, "But you're talking about nearly a million people, against a military twice that size. Not all of them will be fighters, and probably a lot of them aren't trained. What is the population of that area? How many cities are there? Is there even someone to put in charge of a region that sparse that you could trust?"

"All, excellent questions." Gavril nodded. "Only about ten percent of Drachma's actual population lives in the Western territories. There are a few mining towns that are not attached to prisons as work-camps, but not many. Thanks to decades of being purposefully underfunded, but strictly monitored, there is no real regional leadership in the area outside of local governments. The last thing the central government ever wanted, no matter who was in charge, was someone getting up enough popularity for the region to decide to annex itself. Or, you know, for someone to cause a massive prison break." He looked at Sara then, quite directly. "I can only presume that the _disturbances_ reported in the past few years, the big ones, were your doing, and I only wish I had known. I'm truly sorry."

"It's passed," Sara brushed it off. "I'm a terrible prisoner, and I don't expect they would ever have put anything on a report that might indicate that I was anyone of importance. Prisoner three-three-five-six-oh-two-nine-four is hardly going to tell anyone I'm a missing Amestrian General who's supposed to be dead and buried. But I'm telling you, if you're willing to step up and continue to be the voice of your country, against Savahin and his growing control, to keep the resistance going and give it a chance at _succeeding_ , then that is the place to build from."

"There are almost no resistance pockets in that area at all," Niki pointed out, speaking up for the first time in the conversation.

"Exactly," Sara nodded, clearly satisfied. "It is not a direction Savahin will be looking, and so he will not expect it. The prisoners in those prisons are there to be forgotten and ignored. If we can talk them into taking the south-western valley with them and into their protection, than we put another two-hundred miles between Savahin and any hope of reaching the ocean, which also cuts him off from sharing any direct border with Kartos or Creta."

"This is…an incredibly devious and well-conceived plan." Gavril sat back a little in his chair. "What support would this annexed Western Drachma receive?"

"Officially, nothing on the books," Sara continued. "Not from any _government_ sources to start. That said, there are some private investors who have expressed a willingness to make trade deals with them for food and other necessary supplies. Those prisons have incredibly well-stocked weapons lockers. Being separate from the rest of Drachma, they would technically have the authority to choose to make alliances with whomever they wish."

" _Then_ the protection of defensive borders for allied nations would extend to them, as it does to those other countries," Franz finished. " _If_ they will stand on their own, organize, and demonstrate a willingness to separate fully from the rest of Drachma, and reject Savahin's government."

They were suggesting an official break and split off of nearly a third of Drachma's landmass. While it wasn't a huge percentage of their population, Ted could imagine that losing that much raw resource and free man-power _would_ be a major blow. Also, symbolically, it would demonstrate how much of the populace he did not represent. Ted suspected that a split from Drachma _would_ accept refugees across its borders.

"Presuming this works, it will still leave Savahin angry, controlling a huge portion of the populated portion of the country, and will probably goad him to military action." Ted dared to speak up.

"Which is when the alliance gets involved. Keeping Drachma out of that bottom corner benefits all of us," Closson commented. "Are there still alchemists in those mountains?"

"There are no laboratories or research facilities, if that's what you mean." Gavril shook his head. "They all quietly disbanded after Tamirov's failures in the war, and his death. However, I would put money down that those that still practice are living up there, given the prevalence of minerals and ingredients that they seem to use. Also, almost every alchemist-soldier pressed into service during the war—the ones who survived—were thrown in prison. Especially the ones who had their alchemy _blocked._ "

"Which _can_ be broken, if you know what you're doing, and someone wants to do it for them." Sara turned her head, lifting her hair and revealing the slightly scarred remains of what had clearly been an anti-transmutation circle. She turned around again, letting her hair fall. "There is training, and information, that can be shared with allies that currently is not available. If you can talk the West into defecting, then it opens up a whole new world of possibilities for Drachma. While they're defecting, and while they are drawing Savahin's attention, would that give the organized resistance time to draw together enough to take back part of the East?" She looked down the table, at Niki, and at Anika. "It is my understanding that the General has managed to keep the military from fortifying or controlling the Eastern provinces, with the exception of Karmatsk."

"That's correct, General," Niki confirmed. "The smaller cities to the south chose not to put up strong resistance, and in cooperating peacefully have been mostly left alone. The same with the central valley cities. The landscape makes it difficult to put up a good military resistance against overwhelming numbers, and those that did resist initially have stopped. Karmatsk was the only Eastern city openly in rebellion, and most of those mountains are estates belonging to old noble families, and the towns that they protected. Once Savahin took over the estates or killed or jailed the families, he hasn't given the areas much thought except where he thinks we're hiding."

"Has he been any good at guessing where you're hiding?" Franz asked.

"It's been very… hit and miss." Niki grinned, clearly pleased at his turn of phrase in a foreign language. "No one has discovered the hidden mountain fortresses of the noble families in generations. Those of us that keep them up have done so out of necessity for generations. Not that we thought we would need it in _our_ lifetime. I know the frequencies and the codes. If we need to communicate with my father and the rest of the remaining network, it can be done. They will, however, only rally enough fighters to make an open attack against any military outposts in the area if there is a surety that Savahin will be tied up elsewhere. _We_ do not have an organized military force, nor are we prepared to stand in traditional combat. That is a guerrilla force."

"Which can be very effective." Sara didn't seem too concerned about that fact. Of course, State Alchemists were used to thinking outside of traditional tactics. "There's a lot that can be done to fix this problem, but a lot of it hinges on _you_ being willing and able to continue on. We can almost certainly talk Kartos and Creta into agreeing with this plan, as long as someone they believe they can trust is nominally in charge of the Drachmans. Even if that is you choosing one of the local town mayors to be in charge, and being a figurehead. Right now, no one else in Amestris, or anywhere else except a handful of people in Karmatsk and the Drachman resistance knows you're alive. _None_ of them know exactly where you are. As long as Savahin doesn't know, he can't claim Amestris or any other country is in collusion with you or actively siding against him. If you agree to this, _we_ are certain we can talk the other countries into backing a free Western Drachma."

For several seconds, Gavril sat there, silent, and Ted couldn't quite read the man's expression. He could imagine, however, what might be running through his mind. For months, Gavril had been the de facto leader of the small fraction of the government's elected leaders who had escaped execution or imprisonment for months. In the end, they had been ineffective in saving Drachma from the coup, particularly once Savahin took over. So many more had been captured. No one would blame him for deciding to remain in hiding, or start a new life elsewhere. Except himself. If there was one thing Gavril didn't seem to be, it was a quitter.

That, Ted was sure, was what his aunt and uncle were banking on.

Finally, Gavril nodded. "I'm in. I can't guarantee that they _will_ listen to me, but I am willing to try. Presuming you have a way to actually _get_ me there." He raised one eyebrow, not stating outright how he probably expected that to be answered.

Ted suspected they planned to use the plane, but he didn't speak either. It was very probably that not everyone in the room actually knew about it.

"We can make the usual arrangements," Sara replied in an equally vague response that was all the confirmation Ted, and apparently Gavril, needed.

"What do I need to do?" Gavril asked then. "Am I to remain in hiding until I appear miraculously in the Western provinces? Or do you need me to speak to this summit?"

"Both, actually," Franz picked up the conversation. "The summit consists of a very limited number of people, none of whom have any wish to see Savahin remain in power. They will need to believe that this plan can work, and to believe that, they will need to see you. However, these talks have been kept quiet. Word of your presence here should remain minimal and, I recommend, that for the time being you use an alias anywhere outside of those meetings, or these grounds once you are able to venture out. At least for the time you are here. Once the plan is approved, we will move as quickly as possible to put them into action."

"I understand. When would you like me to speak to them?"

"There is a session tomorrow afternoon. We can bring you in near the end. If we spent the morning right, we will have everything set up to logically lead into the discussion for this plan."

"Aren't the others going to feel set up when you present to them a plan like this so quickly?" Gavril asked, looking understandably skeptical.

There were some shared glances on the Amestrian side of the table. It was Closson who chuckled. "Things work a little differently around here than you're used to."

* * *

Once the decision was made, the conversation seemed to shift away from politics to other things, for which Anika was grateful. Part of her was relieved that Gavril was willing to continue taking risks for Drachma, and that Amestris was not nearly as neutral on the subject as its political policies publicly declared. Doing things behind the scenes was certainly something Drachma was familiar with. Still, it was probably best that most of the sensitive conversation had been in Amestrian. It meant that those who were unlikely to be involved would have plausible deniability about knowing anything about it.

Anika had no doubt that she and Niki did not have that hope, no matter how much they tried not to get involved. Their name, and their involvement in the resistance would make it impossible for them to walk openly in Drachma again until a more tolerant government was restored. Or, at this point, put in place. There was too little of the previous government left.

After the main courses followed dessert and then, when everyone was full, the dinner broke up into more informal conversation. Anika was just getting up from her chair when the alchemist Ted had identified as the Shock Alchemist, Closson came over to Ted. "President wants to talk to you."

Anika's stomach fluttered, but Ted smiled reassuringly as he took his hand off her shoulder. "It's fine. I'll be right back." He turned and followed Closson through a door at the other end of the room. Anika noticed that Franz Heimler had already vanished. Fischer and Gavril were deep in conversation still at their seats, and Niki had moved down to join them. Fyo was flirting with one of the Ambassador's aides, while the other aide, Mrs. Volkova, and Liena had moved over to a sitting area in the corner of the open sitting area where they had first been brought, across the hall.

For a moment, she wasn't sure what to do.

"Excuse me, Miss Marskaya?"

Startled, Anika turned to her right, to find Alyse Fischer standing next to her, smiling. In her tasteful, sage-green dress suit with a cream ruffled blouse, the woman was the epitome of understated elegance. As much as Anika wasn't one for formal dress occasions, she felt completely underdressed. "Anika is fine, ma'am. How may I help you?"  
The other woman nodded. "Then you must call me Alyse. Please, won't you join me? I was going to sit somewhere more comfortable while they conclude this evening's business."

It was far better than standing or sitting alone, worrying about Ted. She nodded. "I'd like that." Besides which, the overstuffed chairs and couches in the other room had looked far more comfortable than anything she'd sat on in months.

Alyse led her into the other room, and Anika almost balked when she realized that the cluster of chairs they were heading towards was not unoccupied. Charisa Closson sat there, along with Sara Heimler. Anika was frankly startled that the latter wasn't in the other room continuing to talk politics and plan.

They also seemed to be waiting for her.

Anika eased herself down onto one end of the open couch, and caught herself almost sighing in delight. It was the most glorious, fluffy, indulgent sensation. For just a moment, she caught herself closing her eyes and wishing she could fall asleep. Not that she would in present company. When she looked around, her face flushed. All three had small, knowing smiles on their faces.

Alyse spoke first. "Would you like some tea?"

"Tea would be lovely."

There was a moment as Alyse poured her a cup, and added honey at Anika's request, then offered her the cup. The others, she had noticed, already had cups. "This isn't a hijacking," Alyse promised with a soft chuckle, "But we were hoping to have a few minutes to get to know you, and for you to get to know us, ask any questions you may have. Of course, if you'd rather not, we won't be offended. I know it's been a very long trip, and it sounds like one mission after another for a long time."

Anika nodded. Somehow, the quip about hijackings made her feel better. Also the fact that she was invited to ask questions. There were also all, in some way or another, related to Ted, if she'd understood that part of his whispered information correctly. "No, that's fine. I'd much rather talk than sit by myself. What did you want to know?"

"Just a little bit more about you, really," Charisa Closson commented. She was another woman who made Anika feel underdressed. The Assemblywoman wore a fitted dark blue dress that was two shades darker than the Amestrian uniforms, with a short-sleeved scalloped jacket over it, and her red-brown curls seemed to sit just so, while being a moment shy of being wild.

Sara Heimler chuckled. For some reason the woman, who had chosen to wear her dress uniform like her husband and the other alchemists, seemed the least intimidating.

"We're nosy, and they're being polite. Before my nephew left you were pretty much the only thing Ted could talk about eighty percent of the time."

"Only eighty?" Anika dared a small joke.

"He had to sleep sometimes," Sara pointed out, grinning more broadly. "So, we know a little bit about you, but not much more than that you're a zoologist who works with big cats, you shoot like Riza Hawkeye, and that you're the daughter of a General, like the rest of us."

"All of your fathers' are Generals?" Anika did her best not to stare.

"All of us," Charisa nodded. "Though in my case, technically, I was adopted when I was three, but my little brother and I don't have any real memories anymore that far back. I _do_ remember being introduced to them, after Sara here helped save our village."

Sara shrugged. "It was my job, but yes, when Mrs. Breda told me they wanted to adopt children, I gave them the picture I had of Charisa and her brother."

"And, the rest is history," Charisa nodded.

Breda… "So, your father was General Breda, the one who used to be President of Amestris." Anika was fairly certain she remembered that name.

"That would be him."

"Alyse and I are cousins," Sara went on to explain. "As Ted may have told you, he's named after his grandfather, my father, Edward Elric. His brother, Alphonse, is Alyse's father."

Ted had told her about the Elric brothers, though she'd heard the names in history classes when Amestris came up. Anika nodded. "So how are you related to them?" she looked at Charisa. That was not a name Ted had mentioned in his long conversations about his family tree.

Charisa didn't seem offended. "I married in, kind of. My husband is Edward Elric's foster son. It's not a blood relation, but then none of our families have ever really cared much if family is by blood or by choice. Sara was like a big sister to me from the moment I moved to Central."

That did sound nice. Anika sipped her tea, and relaxed a little more. "So, I thought you said you were nosy," she chided gently.

Sara chuckled. "Oh, we are. The nosy questions are these: when are you due, what are your plans, and tell us everything you're willing to share about your relationship with my nephew."

Anika almost choked on her tea, but from laughter. Sara's bluntness was refreshing, and almost… Drachman. Maybe Amestrians weren't so different after all. It was easiest to start with the first question, and it was the first time anyone here had even addressed the fact that she was pregnant. Though she noticed none of the questions included the possibility of Ted _not_ being the father. There was also, more notable to her, no judgement in her tone anywhere. "Nine weeks. We actually _did_ see a doctor in Karmatsk, and they said everything was fine, and he looks like he'll be right on time." That got her some puzzled smiles, and Anika remembered then how startled Ted had been by what she considered typical medical technology. "We use sonogram technology in Drachma," she explained even before they asked. "It, well it basically bounces sound waves through and off of something to make an image, so you can sort of see what's going on inside. Mostly doctors use it, and it lets them look at the baby. This far in development, sometimes they can take a pretty good guess at gender."

"That's fascinating," Charisa's eyes were wide. "We should have that here."

"Tell that to the alchemists," Alyse chuckled. "We could always ask Ethan and Ren to look into it."

"So, I take it this one looks like it's a boy." Sara looked slightly less shocked, but then since she had spent time in Drachma, maybe she'd heard of it before.  
Anika decided not to ask. She nodded. "That, or our baby has three legs."

Everyone laughed. "Boys tend to run heavy in our family." Sara picked up her teacup from the saucer. "But I expect Ted's told you about that."

"Mine does, too. I have three older brothers. Niki's the middle of them." For a few minutes, she told them about Leonid and his family, and Kirill, and about life before the war, and her parents, and going to university for zoology before getting her job in Petrayevka. They were an honestly interested and attentive audience, and they asked the kinds of questions she might expect from family who hadn't spoken in a while, not strangers in a foreign country she had never met before. It was like having three friendly new aunts, and she found herself talking more freely than she would normally. Anika found herself easily prodded into telling her version of meeting Ted, and what she'd thought of him, and how he had proven he wasn't just one of _those_ soldiers, and how they had come to work together. She even admitted, though her face turned red, that their son's conception had happened in Petrayevka, though she gave no further details, and no one tried to push for them.

"We were out of Petrayevka before they had a chance to send police after us, though we split up to avoid capture. My father and I made it back to the estate in one piece, and that's where we stayed, fighting to keep Valhov's men from taking control of the area. At least, until they bombed the estate and we had to flee."

"What did you do when you found out you were pregnant?" Alyse asked, riveted to the tale.

"Cursed my own lack of forethought and getting caught up in the moment mostly," Anika admitted. "I had no idea if I'd ever see Ted again, let alone be able to reach him to tell him. Then…. He showed up at my door." She couldn't help smiling. "I couldn't believe it when he managed to do what no one else in history has done, and find a way to get himself brought to our family's secret base."

"He's awfully good at getting into places people aren't supposed to be able to get into, or out of," Sara commented dryly.

"I'd noticed." Anika finished her tea, and set the cup down. "When I told him I couldn't just _leave_ with my homeland a mess and my family in danger, I expected him to go home. Instead, he declared that he wasn't leaving without me and he'd end the war if it meant we could be together."

"A bit too cocky, yet romantic. Sounds like an alchemist," Charisa quipped.

"So since you're _here…_ can we presume that means you _are_ planning to get married?" Alyse asked.

That was the real question, the one this had all been leading towards. Was she going to be part of the family? Would Ted be part of raising his child? Did they have any kind of life plan whatsoever? "We are, though I have no idea when we'll manage that," Anika admitted with a small sigh. "There wasn't really any way to even do a basic marriage while we were in Drachma. Going down into any town together where we would be recognized under our _real_ names, or even using Ted's, was too risky. Now, we're here, but I don't know how long we'll be expected to stay on the grounds, truly, and we can't expect Ted to just be allowed to stay with me until we can find time. Presuming, that he still has a position…" it was her turn to ask a nosy question. Ted had been gone for quite a while. "Ted wasn't certain what kind of a reception we would get, except that he seemed very certain that the only one of us in any real trouble would be him." Did they know? It occurred to her as she spoke that they might not all know what had transpired. Ted had said he'd argued with President Heimler, declared he was leaving, and stormed out before coming almost immediately north. He certainly hadn't been on the undercover mission he'd been claiming, or that he'd used to get them access to the military phone on the border. She knew that.

 _That_ got the nervous looks she had been waiting for. Sara looked apologetic. "That's going to depend on what he says to Franz."

Anika hoped Ted kept his temper. Their entire future was counting on it.

* * *

Ted followed Closson out the door, and down the hallway to a small office, where his uncle was waiting for him. He thought he saw a small glint of sympathy in Closson's eyes, before he shut the door, leaving them alone.

Refusing to appear overly nervous, Ted came to rest at attention. "You wished to speak with me, Sir."

"I do." There was no _at ease_. There were no familial hugs, or even a handshake. The person standing in front of him, in this moment, was not uncle Franz; it was President Franz Heimler, General, and his commanding officer. "You are going to report to me, here and now, _every_ move you made from the moment you left my office until you arrived through that door this evening. You will leave nothing out. You will report honestly and fully every detail, and every piece of intelligence you've collected. You will give me every fact, and any insights you may have had regarding those facts. You may proceed."

That was it. No questions about how he was, no expectation of an apology, nothing. Just cold, all-business, President of the Military.

Ted hadn't been sure what to expect from his uncle; anger, betrayal, sorrow. Instead, he got nothing, and somehow, that hurt the most. He stuffed his temper down and nodded. "Yes, Sir." Then he began, from every move he'd made to avoid getting caught on the way out, to how he had gotten past Briggs, and how he had found Anika, though he did not include the exact location in the mountains of the Marskaya hideout. He told his uncle about the resistance's communication network, and the information they gathered. None of that was classified information anyway, though he avoided mentioning codes. He detailed each of his missions against Savahin's troops, skirmishes and rescue missions, and then covered again, in far more detail than Gavril had given earlier, every step of sneaking into Karmatsk, and everything involved in stabilizing the man, bringing him back from the edge of near death, and sneaking him right out the gate past the troops. Anika's refusal to let the zoo animals be taken, and the rescue, the chase, the battle, and what they had seen in Xerxes, even though he knew that would be less relevant. Franz had said _everything._ There, he gave him his detailed opinions on each of the Drachmans he had brought with him. Their strengths, weaknesses, and trustworthiness; that he was certain that if they didn't want to go back to Drachma to fight, they would be loyal citizen wherever they were able to take care of their charges, and do the work they loved.

Eventually, he ran out of information to report. The train ride itself had been relatively uninteresting, though he detailed the routine of caring for the animals, napping, playing cards, and otherwise preparing his comrades for what to expect, so everyone would be calm and cooperative on arrival.

When he was done, he stopped. For over a minute, Franz said nothing. "Is there anything else you want of me?" he finally asked.

"Tomorrow you will be presented to the gathered summit attendees," Franz replied curtly. "You will provide a detailed summary of your analysis of the intelligence you have gathered. You will explain the salient points that will lay the groundwork for getting them to approve tonight's plan when we bring it up later. You will _not_ include Gavril

Mihalov in your statements, however. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You will provide me a written draft of your report first thing tomorrow morning for approval and you will not speak a single _word_ that I have not approved."

"Yes, President Heimler."

Franz seemed appeased, but only in that he was not scowling. He nodded briefly. "When dinner is over, you will be taken under guard to Holding at Headquarters. After your report, you will return there."

His stomach dropped. Holding was just the official term for the room where soldiers awaited courts martial hearings. It wasn't quite a cell, but it might as well be. Not that he hadn't been prepared for this eventuality. He knew the rules and regulations. Yet, somehow, he'd had trouble believing that his uncle would actually drum him out of the military. Of course, there was the possibility they would choose to be lenient, and it would simply be a mark on his record; a lack of promotion. He might even be demoted. "I… I can't do that, Sir."

His uncle rounded on him, spinning on-heel sharply. "Care to repeat that, Proteus?"

Not Lieutenant Colonel. Not Ted. Not even Edward. "I promised Anika," he clarified, schooling his voice to calm, to reason, when he wanted to shout and punch something. "I can't leave her alone here, in a foreign country."

"Miss Marskaya will be perfectly safe on Embassy grounds, which are well guarded," Franz replied. "Your concern right now should be on the long-term, soldier, the future."

"That's exactly what I'm concerned about," Ted objected. "How long will I be kept in Holding? Days? Is this some kind of sick joke, that you'd keep me away from my fiancée? My child? I won't be denied the right to take care of my family."

Franz' eyes went dark and hard. Words died in Ted's throat. "Your _family_ has been worried sick about you for months, desperate for word. I get calls from your mother every other _day_ hoping for some news of her son. Your father, your brothers., your little sister… everyone. You _abandoned_ everyone, and everything, in a fit of passion. You are a disgrace to your rank, title, and your birthright. Now you will do _precisely_ as you are told, to the _letter_ if you don't want to destroy your best hope for supporting a family. We _need_ this plan to work, and I know you agree with that sentiment. Anything other than what I tell you puts it all at risk. So, no _ad-_ libing _,_ no _wild schemes._ You will behave like a model Amestrian officer and publicly keep up this charade that you were on some kind of undercover intelligence mission on my orders. If you don't, a court martial will be only a formality."

Ted had never had to work so hard to keep his temper reigned in. For several seconds it was all he could do to refrain from saying something he really would regret later. Probably immediately after this interrogation. When he had thought it was all gone already, when they might just stay in Drachma, it had felt like the right thing, like it wouldn't matter to him when they signed the papers. He was gone, but here, now, in the middle of Central… when their whole even tentative dream was tossed on its ear. "You could keep me locked up here," he tried one last time. "There are guards at all the exits. It's not like I'd go anywhere anyway."

" _Holding,_ Elric, and I won't hear another word about it. Say good night, and whatever else you need to say, and follow Closson when we leave. He'll deliver you to Headquarters."

"Yes… Sir."

* * *

Sara was more than satisfied with the way the evening was going. When she had initially proposed her plan to Franz to gain Gavril Mihalov's cooperation in splitting Drachma, he had been understandably skeptical, but had agreed to let her present it. With the lack of time they had, the dinner party approach had been her idea. They may be rushed, but this was still a matter of diplomacy, and it made it clear to Mihalov that they were taking _him_ seriously.

It had worked almost better than even she had expected. Mihalov was a patriot of the kind Sara could understand. She had first heard the name in Tore's reports from the diplomatic mission he had led that Trisha and Roy had gone on years ago. A young man then, with the right amount of idealism and practicality, charisma and determination to make things happen; a man who was not afraid to put himself in danger and investigate issues directly. His career had been an upward climb, and even the last few years when she'd been imprisoned, sometimes prisoners got word of the outside world, in the form of gossip or basic news. The fact that he had pushed for prison reform had definitely been something the guards talked about. All of that, including his conduct these last months, had come together in her mind, forming a plan worthy of her father for just-so-crazy-it-might-work.

Now, it all appeared to be working. Once she had gotten Mihalov to agree, it was time for her to back down for a bit, and let others talk, let him get comfortable with them and the idea of the plan. So, she had joined Alyse and Charisa in getting to know Anika. It was easy to see why she had captured Ted's heart so easily. She was not only very pretty, but even here where she was probably very nervous about being in a foreign country, unarmed, pregnant, at the mercy of people she hardly knew, she carried herself with composure, showing no real fear. She even responded to Sara's attempts to ease the mood with levity of her own. This woman was no more an innocent girl than Sara had been at her age, not now anyway. Not after the fighting she had seen, and been part of in the past few months. She seemed practical, even-tempered, and level-headed; a lot of things Ted often wasn't.

She hoped the meeting between Franz and Ted was going well. That was one thing Franz had refused to discuss; what he intended to say to their nephew. After the quiet, but still not secret, scramble to hunt Ted down upon leaving, they could hardly pretend _nothing_ had happened, or that it had been a planned intelligence mission forever. Technically, without having filed actual paperwork, Ted had gone absent without leave, and broken several laws from two countries doing so. Ted was fortunate the consequences for traitors in Amestris no longer included death. At least, not without him having also murdered someone or something of equal extremity. That didn't mean the consequences might not be severe.

It was quite a long time before Franz and Ted returned to the room. Sara's first clue they were back was Ted, hovering in the edge of her vision, clearly anxious to talk to Anika, but not wanting to interrupt the conversation. It was the most nervous she had ever seen him, despite the fact that under normal circumstances he would have simply walked up and extricated whomever he needed from the conversation. There was a tightness about him, not just his eyes, but his entire body looked spring-wound.  
Glancing around, Sara spotted Franz talking with Cal, Tore, Niki, and Gavril. Franz looked no different than he had all evening, but that told her nothing about how the conversation had gone. His public face had improved in the past few years, and he wasn't going to show any emotion in front of their Drachman allies that he didn't want to.  
Finally, Sara couldn't stand having that ball of tension hovering off to the side. She looked straight at Ted. "Don't mind us," she told him directly. "We're just chatting."

That got everyone else's attention, and Alyse paused in her story.

Ted, looking slightly sheepish, stepped in, coming around behind the couch. "Sorry to interrupt. Can I borrow you for a moment?" he held a hand out to Anika. Looking puzzled, she reached out and took it as he helped her to her feet. She followed him off into a corner where they could talk quietly.

"Well, Franz didn't flay him," Alyse commented in a low voice, "but he looks jumpy."

"Tore said he wasn't allowed to tell him anything on the drive here," Charisa added. "Franz hasn't' told him what he plans to do with Ted either."

"He hasn't even told _me_ ," Sara admitted. She couldn't hear what Ted was saying, but he didn't look happy, and Anika looked startled, then upset. Then they hugged tightly.

"But I don't think it went well."

Now the couple was hugging tightly, and while they could only see Anika's face, there was a glint of tears.

"That's definitely not relief." Charisa scowled.

"No, but I think it's my cue to subtly guide this get together to its conclusion." Alyse stood. "We should give them a few minutes."

Together they stood and moved back into the dining room, giving the two a little more privacy. The evening _was_ getting late, and tomorrow would be another eventful day. Incredibly eventful, if Sara's plans were put into motion.

True to her word, all it took was Alyse interjecting a word here, a glance there, a hand on Cal's arm. Without actually _interrupting,_ she steered the entire party to an end in a matter of minutes, and no one seemed to realize she had done it.

Sara had always been impressed with Alyse's event planning and running skills. The ability to make an event _end_ on time without feeling forced, now that was magic.  
Not that it was a straight ride home. In order to keep the comings and goings at the Embassy less obvious, they had all come over in a couple of State cars from Headquarters. It would be logical to see a State car coming and going. Anyone with the proper clearance might be in it.

What concerned Sara as she sat down in the front seat of the car that she, Franz, Cal, and Alyse had come in, was Ted being escorted out and put into one of the cars as well. She was dying to demand that Franz tell her what was going on, but she didn't want to do it in front of Cal and Alyse. Expert at keeping her mouth closed or not, Alyse wasn't military, she didn't have clearance, and she knew Franz would refuse to answer with her in the car on principal. If there was one thing he was a stickler for—most of the time—it was the rules. As the President, he seemed to have drawn those lines even more clearly in regards to the behavior of subordinates, or keeping military issues private.  
So she had to wait, through the drive back to Headquarters, where they were dropped off by their own vehicles, and for her and Franz to be alone. As soon as that happened however…

"So, are you going to tell me why Ted left in the last car, and where they took him?"

Franz, without taking his eyes from the road, sighed. "They took him to Holding."

Sara's stomach dropped. "You _arrested_ your nephew?"

"No, he agreed to go. Arrest was unnecessary."

"You're not really going to court martial him?"

Franz scowled. "You're going to have to trust me on this."

Oh no, she was not going to be dodged, not on this. _Trust_ was not the question. "Answer the question, Franz."

"Oh, for crying out loud. He is a _military officer_. He broke nearly a dozen rules and regulations, and two laws running off into Drachma, and that's just on _this_ side of the border. He's guilty of going AWOL and illegally crossing international borders. He'll be fortunate if no one considers it treason in the current political climate, no matter which side he was fighting on in the Drachman conflict."

"Which is _why_ a little family loyalty would go a long way."

Franz' hands had tightened on the wheel, and his face took on that look it got when he was trying to keep his temper. "I can't allow exceptions to the rules, and you know that. No favoritism. No nepotism."

Sara refrained from gritting her teeth. "That doesn't mean you have to treat him like a criminal. He came back with not only information, but a possible _solution_ to our problem. Or at least, to part of Drachma's problem that would be a benefit to us. He may end up being the hero that orchestrated the escape that leads to the eventual restoration of peace in Drachma, and yet he may be drummed out of the military as a traitor for it. It's not right."

"I didn't say I liked it," Franz pointed out, "But regulations have to be followed in the military, or we have chaos. This was in direct defiance of standing orders not to get involved."

"He gave you a verbal resignation."

"In a fit of anger. There was no paperwork, no follow up, and no asking for permission to resign before the end of his commission." Franz tight jaw loosened, just a little.

"Besides… I didn't expect him to leave my office and head _straight_ for the border."

"He's impulsive and passionate, but he's also usually _right_ , _"_ Sara continued. "The least you could have done was leave him under guard at the Embassy with Anika. You know he's not going anywhere without her."

"People would talk. Officers would talk." Franz shook his head. "That connection will become public soon enough. It's critical that it not until the Senior Staff make up their mind about charges. We never told them _why_ he left, only that he was heading into Drachma and that's where he went."

Sometimes her husband was even more brilliant than she remembered. "So, right now, they might think he was acting out of moral obligation, or one of his hunches."

"Instead of the flames of passion? Yes, pretty much."

That appeased her conscience, at least a little. "You know, he's not the only one who's broken international law in a fit of passion to rescue a girl in Drachma." She eyed him, smiling. "I can think of a certain President of the Military whose last foray into Drachma was incredibly recent and _very_ unofficial."

She was rewarded by an uncomfortable expression as Franz pulled the car up in front of the house. "Yes, well, sometimes even a ranking officer might take leave of his senses."


	49. Chapter 49

**August 16, 1990**

By late afternoon, Ted's nerves were shot. He had spent most of the night awake, alternating between writing what he was going to say the next day and pacing the confines of his small room when he could no longer hold still. The rooms in Holding were really more like very small barracks rooms than cells, but that did not make him feel better about being there. The longer he mulled over the conversation between himself and his uncle—if it could be called a conversation—the more he wondered at the necessity of placing him there. As much of a stickler for regulations as Franz Heimler generally was, he was _not_ above placing them above all else without good reason and sound judgment. Even if he had taken Ted's defection personally, this didn't feel like a grudge.

That meant he was already being judged, court martial or not, and it was in Ted's best interest to do exactly what he had been advised. When he had entered the council room that morning, he had followed his uncle's instructions precisely, claiming that he had, in fact, been sent to Drachma on a covert mission to collect information on the new regime, and on their former allies who were still resisting. He had reported the information he had covered the night before, keeping it to a summary of specific details and a few specific insights that could be backed with the facts, including the information that Gavril Mihalov was alive and in hiding and had not been captured. He did _not_ mention that the man in question had arrived with him. That was for later.

The room had been full of people, though that didn't mean a lot in a conference room that wouldn't hold more than forty very closely crammed. Still, Ted was certain every General in Central had been there. Again, he got that niggling feeling that this _was_ in a way, part of his court martial hearing, though he couldn't have said what part. Maybe the _proof I did something beneficial for Amestris while I was there_ part.

Afterwards, he had been escorted back to his room without a word from his uncle, and made to sit there with instructions that he would be summoned when he was needed. Who knew when that might be!

No news on if they were going to court martial him at all, and what the punishment might be. It could be anything from a demotion to prison time. No news about Anika, or any of the other Drachmans, or the zoo animals.

There also wasn't really anything else to do. There was no television or radio, no books. He could write, since they had left him paper and pencils, but other than basic military food coming at the scheduled hours, there was no break from the monotony.

He had not been told what to expect, so he did not know where they were taking him when the door opened again later that afternoon and he was ordered out.

In the hallway, he once again found Tore Closson, who seemed to have been assigned as his jailer for the time being, something the Shock Alchemist did not seem to be enjoying. Of course, since he was one of Ted's superior officers, it probably hadn't reflected well on him _or_ Whitewater when he took off.

He was surprised when they returned to the conference room, and Closson had them sit in the back, near the door. Then he realized why he was here; because the big reveal was coming. This was the meeting they had discussed in depth last night.

The meeting started off with a brief summary of what had previously transpired in the past twenty-four hours, to make sure everyone was on the same page and to give countries a chance to make changes to previous statements based on any conversations they may have had with their governments in the interim. This included their mutual agreement to a pact to protect each other in the event Drachma should make any military movement outside its borders and threaten one of the member nations, the paperwork for which was now being drafted and would be ready to be signed the following morning. Then, the discussions turned to the more difficult questions regarding the ethical dilemma of what staying _out_ of Drachma might mean for the people of Drachma who were not part of the coup, or members of the military who had sided with it, particularly now that most resistant pockets of military units that had tried to fight back had been mostly subdued, or split and vanished into the resistance.

This was the subject where the unity of the group nearly fell apart, though Ted got the feeling they had already discussed the subject at least once. Now, the new information from intelligence did come in to play, however, and Miss Morovich made a point of bringing it up in her statements regarding the plight of the average Drachman citizen.

No one seemed to want to make a statement in favor of any kind of aggressive military action, even when proposed with the possibility of further executions as Savahin's men hunted down and captured everyone resisting him. It would be a long slow process, but given his current pattern of behavior, any enemy of the new government would be unlikely to be given prison time instead of being made a public example.

Ted kept his temper tightly in check as the Kartosian ambassador voiced the opinion that as long as Savahin was too busy with Drachmans, he would be unlikely to make another jab at Kartos or the north of Creta for decent port access.

The discussing, bordering on bickering at some moments, went on for nearly an hour before his Aunt Sara stood up. The moment everyone realized she was standing, the room went silent, all eyes on her.

Sara, the other General Heimler, the Twilight Alchemist… she was all those things with her sharp eyes glinting as she looked around the room. "We went in to Aerugo when the legitimate government, however many problems it had, begged us for aid," she gestured at the Aerugean Ambassador. "Twice, really. The second was entirely humanitarian aid. We went in to Xing for the same reasons," she gestured at Mao and Jiu. "Though I was not here for that event, it's pretty clear that those alliances matter. It would have brought further war to us eventually, and to our other allies. You destroyed the major Syndicate base, but I can say from personal experience, that did not _stop_ the damage already done. As you've seen for yourselves, this is all part of the same ongoing situation.

"The Hashman Syndicate worked illegally in Aerugo for decades, and Amestris, smuggling artifacts, but also researching weapons. They murdered alchemists. They attempted to murder more. They kidnapped _one._ You want intelligence? I will tell you this… there are hundreds of thousands of men and women in the Drachman prison system, and thousands of them are petty thieves at the worst, and just as many are political prisoners whose only crime was disagreeing with someone in power in a period where it was possible and expedient to make someone disappear. But we are talking about a country of several billion people, the majority of whom are everyday people, like the ones we fought to protect when Drachma invaded us…when our allies came to our aid. The wolf on our border will _not_ sleep forever. It may not even sleep for long. I've met Savahin's type, and some of his people, and I know what they're capable of. He's a rabid beast, even worse than his predecessor, and a revolutionary. If Drachma can't stop him, we will eventually be forced to do something. I believe we should act pre-emtpively."

The Kartosian Ambassador looked skeptical. "And how do you suggest we do that?"

"By helping Drachma stop him."

"Again… how?" the Kartosian asked into the silence that followed her statement.

This was it. Ted tried not to look eager as Sara nodded. "By freeing and empowering thousands of Drachmans who have spent decades of their lives waiting for this moment to prove their innocence or redeem themselves." She then went on to outline, simply and to the point, the plan that they had discussed at dinner the night before in great detail: getting the cooperation of the prison guards, and creating a wide outspread range of prison breaks, so the region could organize and break itself off from Drachma. Once it was no longer considering itself part of Savahin's Drachma, many of the military hang-ups would go away, and they could make pacts of non-aggression with other countries. Encouraging those would allow them to assist in fortifying the new, protective free nation that would buffer Kartos and Creta entirely from Drachma, and give Amestris less border to worry about.

"Who do you propose we encourage to take charge in this new proto-country?" the Aerugean ambassador finally asked. "Left up to the people living in that region, who's to say that they would choose someone to be in charge who wouldn't be worse than Savahin? We could be creating a second despot and enemy even with the best of intentions."

Now, Sara's eyes gleamed wickedly. "That is precisely what I have a gentleman with us this afternoon who has agreed to propose himself to them in light of current events. May I present to you, former member of the Drachman government and nephew of the recently deceased Chairman Gurina of Drachma, _the_ Gavril Mihalov."

Like prairie gophers, every head whipped sharply in the direction Sara gestured as Gavril Mihalov—now dressed in a well-tailored suit—strode into the room, with Niki and Anika flanking him.

Ted felt a small flash of relief even as he wondered at their presence. They must be here as representatives of the resistance, and their father. They had both also been provided professional-wear. Ted had a vague suspicion that the maternity dress-suit Anika wore might have come out of Alyse Fischer's closet. It was certainly her style.  
The Drachman Ambassador stood, shaking Gavril's hand as he then took the floor. "Good afternoon. As General Heimler has said, I am Gavril Mihalov. As little as two weeks ago, I and other members of the recently deposed Drachman government, the one which was your ally, were attempting to maintain some semblance of order in a country thrown into hysteria. Recently, the dictator Savahin ordered that the soldiers press into the city of Karmatsk, where they took the city, and captured many of my colleagues. A very small few of us managed to escape. I was gravely wounded, but thanks to members of the resistance, my injuries were treated, and we were able to sneak back out of the city. When soldiers gave chase, we were forced to fight, and flee once more. I was incredibly fortunate that our party found itself included in Lieutenant Colonel Elric's return to your country to report his findings."

Ted tried to pretend this wasn't a surprise as several pairs of eyes briefly glanced in his direction, with a wide variety of reactions.

"It is to him, and in extension to Amestris, as much as our own resistance, that I owe my life, and this opportunity. I was made aware only on my arrival in Central of this gathering and its purpose. I commend all of you, and offer you my thanks, that you have chosen not to ignore what is going on within the borders of Drachma. I understand, truly, what it is to want only peace, and to be concerned with the defense of a people. I was only a boy when Drachma invaded Amestris. My family opposed the war then, and still hopes that we might make right what is going on in our own country, before it spills outside our borders. That is why I have agreed to General Heimler's proposed plan, if it is approved by this assemblage, that I will go into Western Drachma, and organize and encourage the revolt needed to break the entire Western third of Drachma away from Savahin's government. Those mountains are highly defensible, and the resources a critical part of Drachma's economy. Savahin will _have_ to respond, which will draw his attention in one direction, opening up opportunities for the resistance to retake other areas of the country that Savahin will see of less importance. I have been assured that those few resistance fighters remaining in that area will accept my leadership from the de-facto head of the resistance movement himself, retired-General and government representative Vichel Marskaya. With me, to vouch for this, are his son and daughter, Niki and Anika Marskaya."

 _Now_ people were looking at Niki and Anika with far more interest.

"I understand your concerns, your fears, and your reservations. They are well founded," Gavril continued. "However, knowing my people, I believe that this plan has a strong chance of succeeding in providing, if not a full solution, at the very worst a buffer between Savahin's government and two of your countries. Protecting Kartos and Creta from another western push is of the utmost importance. In protecting them, and giving Amestris less border to worry about, this will also allow more open treaties with the Western state, whose resources would then also be available to all of the allied countries on the continent. Provoked or not, Savahin _will_ eventually look outside of Drachma again. He has already severed all treaties and ties with your nations. Do not expect that he will be willing to make new ones that do not put you at disadvantage, if he makes them at all. He does not care about his own people; he will not care about yours. He must be weakened, distracted, and taken out of power. In good conscience, I cannot allow him to continue. If nothing else, I ask your blessing to try."

"What will we need to provide?" Mao spoke up first.

"At first, very little," Gavril responded. "If the western province cannot hold its own long enough to declare itself a free state and convince the south-western corner to come with it, then the attempt will change nothing except perhaps to distract Savahin for a time. I will make the expedition there on my own, only with those who are willing to volunteer. What I will ask is that, at that time, this alliance allow them admittance, or at the least agree to those pacts of non-aggression that would then allow them to petition for military assistance. They would be there to protect you, and would be deserving of the same. Until that time, no soldiers, no supplies, nothing other than that promise of a deal, is asked of any of you. I will await and respect your decision, thank you."

From there the room devolved into spirited discussion once again as debate raged regarding the pros and cons of the various outcomes of the decision. Niki and Anika both spoke briefly, fielding questions about General Marskaya's willingness to support such a move, and ability of the resistance to make any kind of orchestrated counter-attacks given the time without pressure to coordinate.

Eventually there was general agreement that it was worth letting Gavril try, and that if he should be able to make it happen, Kartos and Creta would be willing to sign non-aggression pacts with the newly formed state. No one was willing, just yet, to offer troops directly.

By the time they got to that point, it had been hours, and the meeting was adjourned. Details of _how_ the beginning stages would be managed would be discussed at a later meeting.

It had all been fascinating to watch, and Ted felt stirrings of hope for Drachma as the countries agreed that this was a positive step in weakening the new Drachman regime, which could only protect everyone's best interests. It was a far cry from the _no involvement_ he'd been hearing before he left.

None of it, however, gave him any hint as to how things were going to go for him, personally. No one paid him any attention whatsoever until the end of the meeting, when

Shock motioned to him stand up, and they left the room.

Outside in the hall, Ted paused. "Can I at least talk to Anika?"

Closson stopped moving. "I'm under orders to return you to Holding. I'll see if they'll let me bring her by before she leaves."

No one else was in the hallway. Ted followed as the other man started walking again, but he wasn't done. Still, there were things he wasn't going to ask in a hallway. He waited until they got back to the room. "Can you tell me _anything_ about what this is about? Like when they're going to have my hearing? I assume there'll be a court martial."

For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, Closson looked at least sympathetic. "I can't tell you because I honestly don't know. As your direct commanding officer, I'll be lucky if they even let me be one of the officers on the council. Franz has told me very little. From what I can glean, they're still deciding if there will be a court hearing at all."

"Can they just drum me out without one?" Ted was almost certain they couldn't.

"No. So that's probably good news," Closson pointed out. "Some of the Generals involved I don't think are entirely sure which story to believe: the original that you ran off without permission, or that you were actually on a mission this entire time for Franz that couldn't be official because it was illegal, and that the attempts to track you down were a cover-up."

Privately, Ted hoped they would believe the second one. If that were the case, he wouldn't be in trouble at all. But if it were true, wouldn't they only need the President's word to clear him? "And do you know which one is true?" he asked.

Closson rolled his eyes. "I didn't even need to ask, but yes, I do."

Ted winced. "You understand, don't you?"

"Better than you can possibly know," the other alchemist replied. "But I can't condone or support what you did, even if it happens to be fortunate enough to have an outcome that works in your favor. Rowdy and unorthodox a bunch as we State Alchemists are, that doesn't make your actions condonable. You've always been a loose cannon, Proteus. Up until now, you've been lucky. This time, you not only cross the line, you stamped it out into the dirt. Even if, by some miracle, they don't discharge you following a court martial, there will be consequences."

"I understand, Sir." Ted couldn't think of anything else to say. An apology would serve little purpose, and he still couldn't find it in himself to be sorry for his decisions. He had done a lot of good, and saved many lives. Thanks to his plans, they might save thousands more in the long run.

Closson nodded. "I don't know how long they'll wait before making a decision on your hearing. With the summit it may be several days. You'll be required to remain here unless sent for until I hear otherwise. Is there anything I can bring you to make it less monotonous?"

Ted refrained from any of a dozen sarcastic remarks that went through his mind. "Something to read would be nice," he said finally. "Newspapers, books. Anything, really, though it would be nice to catch up on current events."

"That should be permissible. I'll see what I can find." With that, he turned and left Ted alone again.

The room was not locked. Ted knew that. In case of emergencies he had to be able to leave the building; but he also knew better than to step one foot out that door without express permission.

While he'd been gone someone had brought over clothes he recognized as his own, as well as a fresh set of standard military toiletries. They must have gone into his quarters. At least he'd be able to shower and change again. Someone should be bringing him some sort of dinner before too much longer as well.

He wondered if Closson would make good on his word to try and get permission to bring Anika down here, even for a few minutes. Of course, if he tried and failed, Ted might never really know either way. After sitting for so long, he took to simply pacing the room to get out excess energy.

When he heard steps in the hallway, he stopped, and waited, hoping it was more than just a mediocre meal.

Closson opened the door, and held up what looked to be a small stack of newspapers. "Got these from the office. It's everything from the past week, so it ought to keep you busy a while. Can't promise the crosswords haven't been done."

Ted shrugged. "Thanks." That wasn't what he wanted to hear about, and he was sure Closson could feel it from how hard Ted was staring expectantly.

Then the other alchemist smiled, just a little. "You _do_ have a guest. You've been granted ten minutes." He stepped out of the way and Anika, looking anxious, entered.

Ted didn't wait to see if Closson left the room. He crossed the distance and pulled her into his arms, pressing his lips to hers as she wrapped her arms around him. Even after the kiss ended, they stood there, holding each other. "I missed you."

Anika smiled. "You know it's not even been twenty-four hours, right?"

"It feels like a week." Ted's fingers twined themselves in her hair that fell down her back. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"It was decided this morning that Niki and I should attend. I didn't know until then either." Anika nodded. "Then they brought us clothes more suited to the situation."

Ted felt a smile on his own lips. He couldn't frown when she was smiling. "Did you get that from Alyse Fischer?"

"She brought it over this morning. What do you think?" Anika looked slightly skeptical.

"You look classy and competent. Why, don't you like it?"

"Fuchsia is not my color."

Ted chuckled. "It's pretty bold, but it works." He wasn't really a judge of color, but he thought she looked good in everything he'd ever seen her in. "Did they let you see Myrda?"

Anika shook her head, clearly frustrated. "They took Fyo, Mrs. Volkova, and Liena over there this afternoon to see the animals, but since Niki and I had to be here, I didn't get to go. They're going back tomorrow though, and I can go then."

"Good." He didn't want her stressed out with worry about the animals she cared for. "I'm sure they're fine."

"What about you?" she asked. "Do you know anything?"

Ted shook his head. "I gave my report this morning. It seemed to go over well and it was definitely useful in getting people to agree this afternoon, but no one seems to know what they're going to do with me, and I was told to stay here until they do."

"That seems unfair."

Ted shrugged. "As long as I cooperate my chances of getting out of this are better than they would be otherwise. I might even still have a job after all. Not that they've told me anything, but I get the feeling that the information I brought, and the fact that we brought Gavril with us, are going to heavily sway them against running me out or throwing me in prison." He hoped he sounded reasonably confident. It was a hunch at this point.

"That would mean staying in Amestris."

"Is that okay?" Ted asked. He had to admit, he hadn't thought far enough ahead to see them moving _back_ into Drachma. Not while they were wanted criminals, and not with a child; but maybe Anika still had a different preference.

Anika nodded. "My head knows that this is the best place for all of us right now. If you have your job, and I can work here at the zoo, it's a safe place to raise a baby. My heart just still feels like I'm giving up and abandoning my family, which is silly, but I haven't shaken it yet."

"It's a perfectly valid feeling," Ted disagreed. "It's not silly at all. It's not what you'd planned, or even what I expected but what we've started here… what we're part of, may do more good for Drachma than anything we did sneaking around in the mountains rescuing a handful of people at a time. We're not _done_ , it's just not the only thing we need to take care of." He held her just a little tighter. "I promised you I'd end this war if it meant we could stay together, and I meant it. What happened in that room today, that's huge. Once these governments are invested in it, they won't back out at the last minute."

"How can you be sure?"

"Well, for starters, I've met half the people they sent," Ted admitted. "Thrakos Argyros, the Cretan President's son, his wife Minxia is my Dad's cousin's daughter, so she's my second cousin, and the couple here from Xing? That's the former Emperor."

He couldn't help but feel slightly amused as Anika's eyes went a little wide. "That's the Emperor's parents?"

Ted nodded. "Yes, and Minxia's mother's brother and his wife. Dad's cousin Will, the college professor, is married to Ren, Mao's sister. She's a doctor who specializes in alchemy. She's the one who has the clinic with my Uncle Ethan."

Anika shook her head. "Your family is even more widely and weirdly connected than mine is in Drachma."

"Smaller countries…well, except Xing," Ted teased. Having her close made him feel so much better, and much more positive. He wished she could stay. "We have friends in Aerugo, but no family. We haven't been working with Kartos very long."

"Still, an Emperor's sister and a President's daughter-in-law."

"A doctor and an archeologist. Yeah, and I fall in love with the daughter of a Drachman general; one who takes care of large predators for a living. You're just as incredible. Well, I think you're _more_ incredible—"

"But we all know you're a little crazy." Anika's expression softened into one of fondness. "Lucky for you I like crazy."

"Very lucky." He leaned in as their noses touched, and he kissed her again. For the few short minutes they had tonight, he was going to make the most of every moment.

* * *

Aldon enjoyed evenings when Resembool wasn't having some sort of emergency—imagined or real—in which the Mayor absolutely _had_ to be called upon to make some kind of decision. Those were the evenings he was able to go out to his workshop, and tinker around with his engineering projects without disruption for as long as he wanted. At least, when he wasn't spending time with Cassie. She, however, understood that he had times when he just needed to get his arms covered in grease to his elbows, or work on detailed models of ideas he had for all sorts of inventions.

Cassie understood, because on evenings he retreated to his workshop, she went upstairs to hers and worked on her paintings after they had finished dinner and cleaned up together. It was a very satisfactory and relaxing way to unwind. Then, later, they would meet back up again before bed and talk about what they were working on, or maybe watch a movie on the television if there was anything they liked, or that sounded interesting.

He had just gotten all of his tools laid out for his latest tinkering job when he heard a muffled, but urgent shout from inside the house. The words were indistinct, but it had clearly been Cassie's voice. Concerned, he went to the workshop door and looked up towards the house. A moment later the front door opened on the porch, and light spilled out across the yard. "Aldon!" she shouted across the lawn, something she almost never did. It sounded urgent.

"Coming!" He took off, jogging up to the house. What could be wrong? If something wasn't wrong, why wouldn't she have just walked down to tell him like she usually did.

"What's going on?" he asked as he hit the porch, but Cassie had already gone back inside. He opened the door and went in.

Cassie was standing in the living room holding the phone. Her eyes were wide as she held it out, and there were tears running down her cheeks, but she was smiling too. "It's Sara."

Sara? Aldon's stomach dropped until he saw the smile, and he snatched up the phone. "Sis?"

"Hey Don." On the other end of the line Sara sounded calm, and slightly amused. "Do I need to repeat what I just told Cassie?"

"Please." His wife seemed too overcome to blurt out anything else at the moment which, Aldon suspected, meant the news was about at least one of their children, though she was even more overwhelmed than she had been when Ian called with the good news that he and Bonnie were expecting their first. "Is it news about Ted?"

"Yes, it's Ted. He's back."

"Back…wait, in _Central_ back?"

"Yes! We got a call from the border. He showed up with a caravan of escaped Drachman refugees and several trucks of rescued zoo animals."

Zoo animals? "That sounds… like my son," Aldon admitted as he tried to wrap his shocked mind around the fact that Ted was not only safe in a known location, but already back in the country. "Can I talk to him?"

"He's not here," Sara admitted, sounded both regretful and exasperated. "Given how he _left,_ there's some pretty complicated politics going on around that right now and we're doing everything we can to lessen the damage."

"I understand." His son was lucky Amestris didn't execute people for this kind of thing anymore. At least, not unless Amestrians died. "I know you'll do your best, Sis. Is he unhurt, otherwise?"

"Nothing serious," Sara assured him. "Especially not after spending months fighting in the mountains. No, no, the only injury at this point is to his ego, which needed a good bruising."

His son had certainly taken worse since becoming a State Alchemist. Aldon felt a knot of pain and worry that had settled into his insides months ago finally begin to ease. "So, what haven't you told me that has Cassie over here unable to speak and crying tears of what I… assume, are joy?" he turned around to find that Cassie had already vanished from the room.

Sara chuckled. "Ted brought Anika with him."

The Drachman girl, of course. Aldon felt slightly guilty that he had given little thought to her lately outside of the fact she was the stated reason his youngest son had vanished into a war zone. "What's she like?"

"Very level-headed, well-spoken, intelligent. As he said, she's a zoologist. The animals and the rest of the people he brought with him are from the zoo. Apparently Savahin was selling them off for cash, and they staged a rescue. Alyse, Charisa, and I all sat down and had a nice chat with her. As I told Cassie, _I_ like her, and I think she will too. At least from what I've seen. They only got her late last night, and I wasn't allowed to call you until Ted was _officially_ back. We're still working on getting the Drachmans legal work visas, so _do not_ mention them to anyone…well, except Mom and Dad, and Aunt Elicia and Uncle Al. They won't say anything and it'll be all over the news in the next couple of weeks. If only because there will be all those animals at the zoo that it's hard to pretend aren't there."

Aldon tried to imagine hiding trucks full of zoo animals. "They'd be hard to hide from the zoo staff if nothing else," he agreed. "So…Ted and Anika… have they said anything about plans now that they're here?" He could assume that they were a couple, given the way Sara was talking, and Cassie had been reacting, but he preferred to hear facts for himself.

"Well, they plan to get married at the first opportunity," Sara replied. "It'll be easier for them to stay together, and harder for anyone to argue to have her deported, so they'll probably do something small and quick first, and have a big party later."

She was still not telling him everything, he could hear it in her tone. He knew that tone. "You're smirking at the phone."

Sara laughed. "I'm amazed you can tell."

"You're always smirking when there's something you haven't told me, so just spill it."

"Anika's pregnant."

How many surprises could she drop in one conversation? "How pregnant?"

"Due in October pregnant."

Aldon tried running the math quickly, because there was no way she'd gotten pregnant _after_ Ted left. "She was pregnant before he got _back_."

"Barely. She didn't know, and he didn't know until he got back up there. That's another reason they're in a bit of a hurry."

And _that_ explained why Cassie was even more emotional than usual. Her son had returned after not a word for months, safe and alive, with his pregnant fiancée. "Which mean's Cassie's probably packing luggage right now," he pointed out to Sara.

"I expected as much. There won't be any weddings, small legal ones or otherwise, for a few days, so she's got time to get up here. She might be packing for you too."

"Probably not," Aldon admitted regretfully. "There's a huge Town Planning Meeting in three days."

"So come up afterwards. Resembool will still be there when you get back. Just tell them you're visiting the kids. You don't have to say which ones; most of them live up here now anyway."

That much was true. "I'll see what I can arrange." If he had been planning to run for re-election, he would have been concerned, but he wasn't, so he didn't need to be.

"Good. Whether he'd say so or not, your son could use you right now. I need to go, but I wanted to make sure you had as much news as I could give you."

"I appreciate it, Sara. Thanks."

When he hung up the phone, Aldon headed down the hall towards the bedroom. "Cassie?" When he entered, he was unsurprised to find her already packing suitcases. "You know we can't buy train tickets before tomorrow morning, right?"

Even in a hurry, she was pausing to fold clothes as she packed. "Yes, but if I remember the train schedule correctly, there should be a train coming through on the way to Central early tomorrow afternoon. I just want to make sure we don't forget something."

"You do remember the Town Meeting right?"

Cassie turned and stared at him for a moment, exasperated. "Of course I do, but our son is more important. Can't you get someone to cover it?"

"Do you really trust the town council to vote on this issue without me there?"

"Fine, but you'd better be on a train too the moment it's over." Cassie turned around, and hugged him tightly, still clutching a pair of socks. "I'm sorry, I'm just still trying to take it all in. Months of _nothing_ and he's alive, and healthy, and almost in reach, and he came home _engaged_ and about to become a _father_ and…"

"And boy does that sound a little familiar, doesn't it?" Aldon laughed, hugging her close. "Though I doubt a hideaway in Drachma was as cozy as our little apartment in Briggs. And at least he didn't get married in Drachma without us."

Cassie made a soft choking noise that he realized was half of laugh. "No, it probably wasn't nearly as cozy," she conceded. "I'm not angry at all, just relieved, and glad they're older than we were…but I'm nervous. What if this girl doesn't like it here? What if she wants to go back to Drachma? What if… what if she doesn't like us?"

"Never yet have we had a daughter-in-law who didn't," Aldon pointed out. "So as long as we're ourselves, I'm sure it will be fine. Sara said she, Alyse, _and_ Charisa liked her and got along with her. I'd say that bodes well for her fitting in just fine with the rest of our crazy family, don't you?"

Cassie relaxed a little. "You're right. I'm just not even sure what to pack for this trip, when no one knows we're coming almost, and we can't really tell anyone everything either. My first instinct is to pack presents, or new things for a baby but… I don't know."

"Go with your instincts." Aldon kissed her briefly. "I know it'll be fine." 

* * *

_Author's Note 2/3/2020: I hope everyone is having a good year so far. This one has gotten a bit away from me with work and other things, so I haven't been as consistent in posting as I have in the past decade. To make up for it, I am posting four chapters tonight (this and three more) to catch up the whole month. I do not intend to wait so long for the next ones. This story turned out to be one of the longest and most complex yet, so I am trying to get chapters out as quickly as I can get the rough drafts edited. Thank you to everyone who has read this far! I know the stories generally cover months and years of time, but it's nice not to have to wait that long to read them I'm sure. ;)_


	50. Chapter 50

**August 20** **th** **, 1990**

Ted was almost certain he had simply been forgotten, or determined unimportant enough to be ignored, and while he knew that—compared to the summit going on upstairs and the plans being made that might end up involving every country in the continent that shared a border or near-border with Amestris—he really wasn't that important, his optimism that they might go less harsh on him began to fade with each passing day. He tried to remain optimistic, but it was difficult. Anika was allowed to visit him one other time, and she had been full of updates mostly about the animals at the zoo, because that was where she had been. She and Niki had not been asked to speak to the full Summit again, though more than one of the delegates had chosen to come to the Drachman Embassy to speak with them. She didn't know anything more about when or if they would get around to giving him a court martial hearing, or just making a decision without him. Closson had no further information either, and Ted was starting to feel like some kind of pariah. Had he truly burned all of the bridges even with his family with his decision? He didn't even know if his family had been told he had returned, since no one would tell him and he couldn't receive calls. Did his siblings know? Three of them were right here in town. His parents?

Yes, Franz and Sara knew, and now clearly Will and Ren and most of Great-Uncle Alphonse's side, but had they been sworn to silence? Or was he over-estimating how far that had reached. Maybe Minxia, Thrakos, Mao, and Jiu were also sworn not to say that they had seen him.

If not, well that did not bode well for his future either.

Ted had read the newspapers Closson brought him, even the new ones, and done every puzzle in them trying to keep his mind from driving him crazy. It had helped, but only temporarily, and not much even then.

The lack of a clock in the room did not help. Ted was not at all aware of the irony of the fact that if he had not thrown his watch at his uncle months ago, he might have at least been able to tell the time.

So all he knew from his decent internal sense of time, was that it was well after lunch, and near to dinner, when the door opened again.

This time, it was not Closson, but Colonel Willis, an officer Ted had never worked with closely, but knew by name because he worked with the military courts. "They're ready for you, Elric." His tone was matter-of-fact, and he displayed no personal feeling about the situation one way or another.

Words he had been dying to hear, yet dreading at the same time. Ted was glad he'd taken to sitting around in most of his uniform so as not to be caught off-guard. He stood, gathering calm around him he hardly felt, and reached for his jacket. "Thank you, Sir. I'm ready."

Willis nodded, then turned, leading the way as Ted followed him down the hall, around the corner, and directly to the door of the Military Court Chamber. While Ted had run through a dozen scenarios in his head, explanations, and ideas of how it might play out, he felt under-prepared as the door opened, and he was motioned inside, with Willis now walking behind him.

Ted had never actually been inside this room. Never had he been in this much trouble, and never had he been asked to testify in a hearing. He realized now as he looked up at a panel consisting entirely of higher ranking officers than himself—mostly Generals, but not all—that he had been very fortunate that none of his other _brilliant ideas_ had landed him here. Of course, that was because most of them had happened during times of conflict, and they had usually had very positive outcomes for Amestris and its allies. This was different.

He moved to the position where he was directed, stood at attention, and waited.

Ted recognized the faces above him, though he had never served under any of them directly. They passed in the hallway, or the mess, or the gym. He saluted when necessary and went on his way. There were no familiar, semi-friendly faces in the room. The only person he recognized was President Heimler, sitting off to the farthest right.  
The General sitting in the center, presiding, was grizzled and old, and looked like he should have retired with Ted's grandfather. "Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric, Proteus Alchemist. You are here today to testify regarding your actions in the past several months, as reported. These reports include crossing a closed international border into a forbidden zone, taking part in military actions in a foreign country against the direct and public orders if the Amestrian government, and in the service of military officials from a foreign nation, against the oaths you swore upon taking your commission as an alchemist in the service of Amestris." He looked up from his notes, and down at Ted with an unreadable yet severe expression. "Are these allegations true?"

Here was his first test. Ted had no way of knowing what his uncle might have told them before this moment. If they had been told that he had done them under orders, as Heimler had implied in the summit meetings, then he had more hope for less severe consequences. If they had been told the unadorned truth; that he had thrown his watch in his uncle's face and run off with no one's permission but his own, then he was dead. Still, he did not want to say anything that might incriminate himself unnecessarily.

"Yes, Sir," Ted began carefully. "They are technically accurate." He hoped that wasn't all he would be allowed to say, but he didn't try to plow forward with an explanation. Not yet, and it would just make him sound guilt-ridden which, in all honesty, he was not.

"It is also reported that you brought _six_ Drachman refugees into Amestris, along with several dozen un-quarantined exotic animals, knowing that the borders were closed and it was illegal to do so." He paused, one eyebrow arched.

"That is also correct, Sir. I did bring Gavril Mihalov and five other Drachman civilians across our border with the Desert to the East, when I returned with my intelligence." He pushed a little further this time. The border had not been the one that was officially closed, even if it was a technicality. He had also brought at least one politically very important person with him who was proving to be incredibly useful to the government. Three, when Niki and Anika were considered, as children of an esteemed Drachman General and government representative, who was even now helping lead the resistance.

Ted did not quite claim that the return had been planned for the timing it had proven to have, but the implication would not hurt him.

More scowling and considering faces above him. Some scribbled notes.

"You will now make a statement regarding your reasons and motivations behind these actions."

That was it? Ted couldn't think of a vaguer and threatening open-ended statement. It wasn't even a question, and he had been given nothing to work with. Of course, that was probably the idea.

Ted nodded briskly. "During our previous operation in Drachma, to retrieve the Amestrian ambassador and civilians in Karmatsk, my team found itself in the favorable if unexpected position of working with members of the Marskaya family, who were instrumental in helping us with that mission. In return, we were able to offer aid in the rescue of key members of the Drachman government who stood against the Zinovek uprising and its political members, while causing extensive damage to their airfields and military aircraft on our way out of the country." That was all in the reports, so none of it should be classified from these men and women. "Through my team's efforts, we developed a working relationship with that branch of the government, and those few remaining with which we had been allied. So, the best place to get real-time intelligence was within the resistance itself, from people to whom we had already proven ourselves reliable. It would also place someone within an appropriate distance to take productive action clandestinely or directly if the opportunity arose."

"How would your presence have been more beneficial than the undercover intelligence operatives already in place?" a woman with Colonel's rank on her uniform asked.

"No offense to intelligence, but they aren't State Alchemists. Our wide scope of abilities and duties makes us much more likely to be able to see the opportunity and take it, including the risks. That, and intelligence is never supposed to reveal itself. Our training allows for more mobile covert operations, and alchemy gives us abilities that others simply don't have to get out of trouble as well."

"Would you have us believe that you got involved with Drachman resistance activities as part of an intelligence gathering mission?" Another General asked from the left.

"It was the only way to blend in to the resistance, continue to have their trust, and see things for myself, Sir," Ted responded, restraining the bristling feeling in his spine. Now was not the time to get defensive, just to defend his actions with facts and hope that his usefulness outweighed his transgressions.

The questions continued in that vein for several more minutes, until they got to the one he had most been dreading. "What is the nature of your relationship with Miss Anika Marksaya, and how has it affected the objectives, motivations, and results of your mission?"

Aside from being his primary motivation for everything? "As I mentioned earlier, Miss Marskaya worked extensively with our team on our first mission into Drachma, assisting us with getting into Karmatsk without being caught, and in our limited work assisting in securing the city for the protection of its citizens until we were able to evacuate the rest of our own people. During that time, we got to know her quite well. It was that connection that dictated my choice of where to go looking for the Drachman resistance." That much, at least, was absolutely true, and as objective as he could make it. "Over the past several months, we have worked together often one-on-one, and… we have grown much closer." He did not know how much they knew. Had they seen Anika? Did they know she was pregnant? Or that he was the father of that child? "As soon as the paperwork is completed that will allow her to legally remain in the country, it is our intention to marry." There, that should be enough. He hoped they were smart enough to realize that having the General's daughter living in Amestris was another ace for them when it came to dealing with Drachma. Ted was just grateful that his soon-to-be father-in-law had not tried to stand in the way.

Given it was his understanding that all of the Drachmans he had brought with him were being given permission to remain in the country as long as they had work there—which easily covered all of the zoo folks, Anika included, since they had all of their animals to care for—that paperwork should not take too long. Weeks at the worst, but he was hoping for days since it was already in process.

There were no comments in response to his statement about marrying specifically. He was taken into a small room off the main one while they deliberated, and was made to sit there in a tiny, cramped space, on a hard stool, in a room where he could hear nothing outside it but the low indistinct murmur of voices. After nearly half an hour, he was brought back in. Everyone was in the same positions they had been earlier.

The old General nodded. "This court has made their decisions and has made the following verdict: Edward Elric, Proteus Alchemist: You are forbidden to leave the borders of Amestris for _any_ reason excepting direct military order for the span of one year. Any attempt to do so will be seen as an act of treason against the country and you will be tried as a criminal. Orders or not, you will go only where you are told and when, on or off duty, for the duration of that time. Additionally, you will not qualify for review for promotion for that same span of a year."

Ted nodded in understanding, but did not speak. So far, it was well within the realms of his expectations. He could live with not making Colonel in the next year. That meant they weren't running him out and leaving him without a job. The first part was interesting, since it implied he or others might be ordered into another country. What it did mean was no visiting any friends or relatives outside the country for any reason, no leaving Central without permission even, and no returning to Drachma of his own volition as he had done previously.

The General continued. "Furthermore, you will be subjected to additional monthly review from your direct superior officer, and those reports will be provided to the President of the Military, and to the members of this Courts martial, with the stipulation that should you receive any unsatisfactory reviews of your performance of your duties in that next year, you may be demoted to Major, or discharged."

Neither of which Ted had previously ruled out as possibilities. He was almost more surprised that they weren't starting there. The reviews would be a pain, but Closson, and Fischer, had always given him very fair reviews, and as long as he towed the line and followed orders and didn't _get creative,_ he would be fine.

"Do you accept the judgment of this court?"

The question was, of course, a formality. Ted's choices were to accept it, or lose his commission. Accepting it meant he would finally be free to go, and no longer required to be locked in a tiny room away from people who needed him, unable to take part in the events unfolding right now that he knew would change the course of history. "Yes, Sir."

Then, shortly, it was over, and he was dismissed. Ted walked out the door into the hallway from which he had come, to find himself gratefully alone, even though he suspected it wouldn't last.

Though the last person he had really expected to see walking toward him down the hallway was President Heimler. He didn't dare think of him as _Uncle Franz_ at the moment. He turned and saluted.

"At ease." Heimler looked at him for several seconds, then relaxed just a hair himself. "You are free to collect your things and return to your own quarters. For the time being, you are assigned to headquarters until further notice, to work specifically with the Drachmans to assist them in settling in and understanding the laws of Amestris. You are officially back, and the official story outside of that room stands; to anyone you speak with, you were under classified orders from me directly to gather further information on the Drachma resistance, using your connections. The attempts to track you leaving the country were in part a ruse to cover Amestris' ass so the Zinoveks and Savahin couldn't claim Amestris was meddling in Drachman affairs if you were discovered."

Ted nodded. "I understand, and I'll stick to the story. May I ask a question, Sir?"

"You may ask, Lieutenant Colonel."

"Why?" As much as he'd like to think his uncle was being kind, he knew better than to assume that his law-abiding relative and ultimate boss would do anything that could be construed as nepotism. "Given what they seem to believe in there, what is the difference between letting everyone go on thinking I lost my head and ran off to find some Drachman girl and happened to stumble into useful information, and using the cover story? I mean besides the altruistic element of not undermining my credibility and entire career."

"It keeps up the image that Amestris has the State Alchemists under control," Heimler pointed out, "And that our officers follow orders."

Of course. "Yes, Sir."

They stared at each other for a minute, and finally his uncle's expression softened, ever so slightly. "The men and women under your command still need to respect and trust you. If your superiors can't, then they have no reason to. As long as we both stick to the story, the chain of command is preserved. Step out of line again, and there will be nothing even I can do."

Ted nodded again. "I understand, and I won't. You have my word."

"I hope so." With that, he pulled something out of his pocket, and held out Ted's watch. "You'll be needing this."

Ted's hand closed around the cool, familiar metal. "Thank you."

* * *

Aldon tried to keep calm as he and Cassie rode with Sara over to the Drachman Embassy which was, where he had been told, Ted would be found this evening. Sara had picked them up directly at the train station, filling them in on the news of the day; good news, that Ted still had his commission. That visas were in process for Anika and her colleagues, and no one was being ejected from the country. It also meant they didn't have to pretend that no one knew Ted was back in the country.

They had declined stopping anywhere to get dinner first, preferring to go straight to their son. Beside him, Cassie was anxious and eager, two moods that had been growing the entire trip to Central.

While it was a fairly short drive, it felt like an eternity. Still, before long they had pulled through the gates of the Drachman Embassy, and pulled up to the large house at the end of the drive. "I should probably tell you, that Ted doesn't know you're coming," Sara grinned as she put the car in park. "I told him that I had called and let you know he was alive, but he's probably tried to call your house this afternoon."

"If he called Mom and Dad, they'd have told him we were on our way here, wouldn't they?" Aldon asked as he opened the door and got out. Cassie had already bounded out the other side.

"Only if I hadn't told them not to." Sara's grin turned smug. "Though that was mostly to keep information distribution to a minimum, because a lot of what's happening is still not yet for public consumption."

"Understood." Aldon knew that meant he and Cassie were probably going to see and hear several things in the next few days, particularly here, that they might not be able to repeat. He was fine with that. Though the last time he had been in the close vicinity of more than two Drachmans was when he had fought in the war.

They were met at the door by a Drachman woman who introduced herself as one of the Ambassador's aides, and they were escorted down the main hallway. They passed several rooms on their way, but it was clear that they were being led somewhere specific. Ahead of him he could hear the soft murmur of voices. They reached an area where both sides widened out into larger open archways, and he saw an empty dining room to the left as they were led around to the right, into what proved to be a very large sitting room, with multiple groups of chairs and couches, clearly designed for entertaining.

There, sitting on a couch, one arm resting on the back and around the arms of a lovely blond woman, smiling as they talked quietly, was his youngest son.

At the angle they were sitting, the woman—who must be Anika—saw them first. She stopped talking and made a nodding gesture, and Ted paused and turned. Then his eyes widened. "Mom? Dad?" He stood, and Aldon took in the details. Months of rough living had definitely made his son even leaner, and with his hair grown out enough he had it pulled back in a low tail, the resemblance between Ted and Aldon's father were even more striking. "What are you doing here?"

"Well there's a fine hello," Aldon replied gruffly, though he smiled. "We've been on a train for three days just to see you."

Any formality or decorum was destroyed as Cassie moved forward, gathering her son in her arms and hugging him fiercely. "Edward, if you ever run off like that again I will ground you until you're sixty."

Ted looked stunned for only a moment, then started laughing as he hugged her back. "Don't worry, Mom. We're not going anywhere."

Aldon took the few steps forward needed to pull them both into his arms. Through the shirt, he could feel how lean Ted had grown. "Didn't they _feed_ you in Drachma?"

"Not really." Ted squeezed him back tightly. Though he let go of them before they let go of him. "Dad, Mom, there's someone I'd like to introduce you to."

While they had been hugging, Anika had stood up, and was waiting expectantly, but patiently. Up close, Aldon could tell she was definitely pretty, with near-white blonde hair, braided back but so long the braid fell most of the way down her back. Though it was not a soft kind of beauty. There was something in her eyes that reminded him of his own mother, or Riza Hawkeye. There was experience there, and probably danger if you got on her bad side. He remembered how before he had left, Ted had mentioned more than once what a crack shot she was with a rifle. That, coupled with her choice of working with large wild carnivores for a living, definitely belied a strong will, no matter the soft, slightly nervous smile on her face in this particular moment.

Ted reached back, and clasped her hand as he looked at her, then back at them.

Anika stepped forward. "Anika Marskaya," she introduced herself. "It is an honor to meet you."

"Aldon Elric." Aldon held out his hand, shaking Anika's free hand in greeting. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

"Cassandra," Cassie introduced herself, shaking hands as well, though it was clear she would probably have hugged the other woman if that might not have been too forward. "It's nice to meet you, Anika."

Aldon could only too well remember the first time he had seen Cassie's parents when they first returned from Briggs, very-quickly married and Cassie pregnant with Coran. Neither set of parents had been particularly _pleased_ with the situation, even though they had no objections to them marrying in general.

This was thankfully a different situation.

Aldon decided to break the ice. It was clear that both Ted and Anika, however calm they appeared externally, were more anxious about this meeting than he was, or even Cassie. "So, I hear today is full of good news." He looked askance at his son.

Ted picked up on it, and nodded, relaxing ever so slightly. "You mean that they're not executing me for treason?" he quipped, then looked sorry when Cassie winced. "You heard correctly. Aside from a few stipulations on me remaining inside Amestrian borders on all of my non-existent upcoming vacations, I've still got my commission, and my rank. They've also approved Anika and the others for work visas, so as soon as the paperwork is done, they won't have to remain at the Embassy or the zoo under guard all of the time. Which will make it much easier for us to plan."

That seemed to be the opening Cassie had been waiting for, because she nodded eagerly. "You have a lot of planning to do," she commented, in words that were general but laden with meaning.

Meanings that Ted obviously picked up on: he knew his mother. He smiled. "Yes, we do. And while I'm still surprised you got here this fast, I'm glad, because one of the first things we need to do before we can do anything that requires both of our names on anything is get married. The visas are supposed to be official on the twenty-third, so we thought, as long as there were no other delays, we would go down and get the license and sign the papers on the twenty-fourth. I mean, it's not any kind of a _wedding_ but given how insane things have been, we'd just like to quietly get it taken care of. But, I know we'd both appreciate it if you were there. We'll need witnesses."

"Really?" Cassie's eyes lit up, even as she looked between them. "You're sure?"

It was Anika who nodded in the affirmative. "It wouldn't feel right without you. My father will understand. When this is all over, we can all celebrate together."

"You wouldn't object to a little family get-together though, would you?" Cassie asked. "I can take care of everything."

Ted's smile widened. "I've never been one to turn down festivities in my honor, but it's not just my party. What do you think?" he looked at Anika.

For her part, she had relaxed considerably. "I think it sounds lovely. Thank you."


	51. Chapter 51

**August 24** **th** **, 1990**

Anika had meant it when she said she was fine without a big wedding. Given how little she had previously worried about dating or weddings at all, as absorbed as she had often been in her fascinating and satisfying work with Myrda and other big cats, being married at all was still a bit novel as a concept. She, Fyo, Liena, and Mrs. Volkova had all received their papers the day before, permitting them to remain and live in Amestris for as long as they had work, which the zoo had also promised them all on at least a probationary basis to start, while they got their animals settled in and integrated with the Central Zoo's animals. If they worked out, the positions would become permanent.  
Niki and Gavril had not signed papers, because neither of them planned to stay in Amestris. Niki would be going with Gavril into the Western parts of Drachma to help encourage the needed uprising. While it seemed weird to try and force a further split in a country in order to try and reunite it, the strategy seemed sound enough. Still, Anika would miss her brother.

The marriage itself was not complicated. As long as she was legally working in the country, anyone with the legal authority to officiate a wedding could marry them, and few would have objected. They went down to the courthouse and—with Ted's parents there, smiling and supportive—they signed the necessary papers, exchanged vows, and it was done.

Then they went to a house that belonged to Ted's Uncle Ethan and his wife, which Anika understood to be _the family home._ While they no longer lived there, it had been the house Ted's grandparents had first bought in Central, and had been in the family since. This, Anika understood.

It was a small familiarity in a sea of unfamiliar faces. Even though she had been assured this wasn't anywhere close to _all_ of Ted's family, given they did not all live in Central, and not all extended relatives had been invited, it was still a surprising number of people, only a very small number of which she had previously met. Anika was grateful that Cassandra had "kept it small."

Anika had already met Ted's other Aunt and Uncle; the President of the Military and his wife, Sara, whom Anika was already growing to like very much. _Their_ son and daughter were in attendance, with their spouses and children. Anika recognized both Roy and Trisha Mustang from their involvement in the rescue of the Amestrians from Karmatsk, which made it easier to approach them and talk as well.

Everyone else was new, though friendly, and surprisingly unconcerned about the fact that she was Drachman—unless they were all exceptional actors—or that her father was a General who had once commanded men in an army that had fought against Amestris, including people who were actually in the room. They truly did not seem to be a family that held grudges, and she began to see where Ted got many of his more noble qualities.

Three of Ted's five siblings were present at the party. His oldest brother Coran, with his wife, and their sons; his younger sister Callie; and one of the middle brothers, the actor and his wife. Anika had admitted that she had actually heard of Ian Elric. Several of his movies had played in Petrayevka—usually with subtitles—and he was quite popular with women who liked international stars. She had seen a couple of them, and while she was not the fangirling type, she had enjoyed them. Here, being famous meant little in a room full of people who were well known in their own ways. Anika actually began to feel more comfortable as she got used to the dynamic. It was not unlike dinners her father had thrown at the house; full of people who were hugely important, yet amongst each other they were just friends or colleagues. Well-connected families were not an anomaly in her life, and the Elric clan was simply another one of them, in a different country.

Socializing with them was much the same, and Anika began to enjoy herself as she got used to the very large new family she had just become a part of.

"Forgotten everyone's names yet?"

Anika turned away from refilling her glass with sparkling cider to find Bonnie standing there, smiling. Clearly, she was teasing. Anika smiled. "When I was a child, my brothers and I used to make a game out of identifying important people at the parties our parents held. There was a time when I could identify every ranking officer in the Drachman military who ever walked into our house, and most of the nobility, as well as cite you a wealth of now-useless trivia about them. So far, I think I've got everyone here, though it's a little intimidating to realize this isn't even half of the family."

"I take it yours is smaller? I know mine is." Bonnie nodded.

"I have three older brothers," Anika replied. "Only one is married with children so far, and my father only has one younger brother. My mother was an only child, so family get togethers are less crowded. This one is still missing at least twenty people?" She thought that was right, given two of Ted's brothers, and their families, and the grandparents, were not present. That did not include the cousins and those who married in on the other side.

"At the very least," Bonnie agreed. "Art and Deanna have seven children, and getting them all anywhere is an expensive proposition. Urey and Raina don't usually travel during school since Raina's a teacher. Right now she's on leave, but that's because she's due anytime in the next couple of weeks."

So she wasn't the only one in the family expecting. And if she'd heard a comment earlier correctly, there were three. Not that Bonnie looked outwardly pregnant. "You and Ian are expecting your first too, aren't you?"

Bonnie smiled. "Yes, but not until sometime next April, so we've got a while to get the apartment ready."

"That's a blessing," Anika agreed. "I don't even know where we'll be living yet, though everyone seems to have suggestions for good neighborhoods, so I suspect it won't take us long to look at a few places."

"Are you more interested in a house, an apartment, or something in between?" Bonnie asked curiously.

"If we can afford it, I'd prefer something with a yard. Growing up, we always had plenty of room to run around. It wouldn't need to be huge, but someplace for kids to play, and maybe a dog." She and Ted hadn't had a chance to really plan pets, but given her love of animals, and his fond stories of growing up with dogs, she doubted it would be a matter of if, only when. "Though that's a long-term plan. Right now, I think anything we find that will work for the short-term will be acceptable." Especially since while the zoo had been kind enough to offer employment, there wasn't much she could do right now out of her usual duties, and there would be time off coming in less than two months, when the baby arrived. Between that, and assisting as an informational source for Amestris' intelligence division and a contact between her father and the Amestrian government, she had more than enough to keep her busy.

"Well if you need anything, let me know. I mean it."

From her tone, Anika could tell that the other woman was entirely sincere, and in that moment, she was certain they would not only be sisters-in-law, but friends. "Thank you. I will."

 **August 26** **th** **, 1990**

Date night; it was almost a miracle for Shelby to hear those words, and know that it meant that she and Charlie would have an evening all to themselves. No children, no homework, no physical therapy, no work; just a nice time out, the two of them. Not that they had planned anything incredibly original, or fancy, but a movie, followed by dinner at their favorite little Aerugean restaurant was more than they'd had to themselves in almost four years. Alyse had offered to watch her grandchildren for the evening, and Shelby hadn't been about to turn down the offer.

It felt so good to get out of the house and have some adult time. Shelby had taken the time to put her hair up, wear one of her favorite blue blouses with a tiny floral print, with matching earrings, nice jeans, and her favorite blue flats that matched. Months of diligent exercise made her much happier with the image in the mirror. While she knew that wasn't what attracted Charlie to her, as his hand healed, he had become less internally focused. It was nice to have intimacy back in her life. Now that Abigail was potty trained, Cam walking, and Summer was eleven-months old and weaned, that meant no more breastfeeding, and only two babies in diapers. It was amazing how much easier her life was just with those small developmental milestones.

As soon as they were out the door, Shelby did her best to put the children out of her mind. They would be _fine_ with their grandmother, and she desperately needed some couple time.

The movie was enjoyable; nothing spectacular, but it had a nice balance of adventure and romance and a happy ending. She held Charlie's hand through the entire film, and enjoyed being close. Then it was on to dinner.

Over dinner of her favorite shrimp tacos and his beef fajitas, they talked on and off about the movie they had just watched, including favorite moments and the strengths of the character development, and lacking points in the plot.

It was during a quiet moment over dessert custard that Charlie set down his drink. "Shels…there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

He looked pensive but then, he'd had a lot on his plate lately, Shelby knew, with his physical therapy and his anxieties about getting back to work. His auto-mail port site still hurt him daily, even if it was mostly aches instead of acute pain now. Some days were worse than others. "Of course. What is it?"

"I… I don't think this is working."

"What isn't working?" Her stomach flipped uncomfortably.

Charlie averted his eyes for a few seconds, before forcing them upwards to meet hers. There was agony there. "Us. Well…me. I can't… I can't _be_ what you need me to be. I'm a terrible husband. I'm not even a good _parent._ I can't…tie a shoe, or change a diaper."

So that's what this was about. "That's because you're still healing," she pointed out in her most patient tone. Was that what was worrying him? "You're doing fine."

"I almost killed Cam last week!"

"Oh, you did not. He's just sensitive to ingredients in that particular lotion. The rash went away." It had been a minor incident. Their son had been uncomfortable, but in no actual danger.

Charlie did not look reassured. "But I'm his father. I should have known that."

"All of these things take time. No one expects you to remember every little detail."

" _You_ remember it all." He gestured at her with his real hand.

"I've spent most of my time at home with the kids since Cam was _born_. I learned it all along the way." It certainly hadn't been instinctive.

Charlie looked away, shame clear on his face. "I should have been there."

"Yes… that's in the past though. You're home _now._ You can make up for it." She paused, as an unpleasant thought crossed her mind. The last thing she wanted to do was ask, but… "That _is_ in the past… right? You haven't been… seeing anyone else?"

"No!" Charlie objected vehemently. "NO…I wouldn't. I promised I just… This isn't how things were supposed to be for us. I… I wanted better for you."

The knot inside her loosened. "Charlie, I know this isn't what we planned. Not that we really planned _anything._ We were kids… we were impatient. But this _is_ our life, and it's not a bad one at all."

"Except for me. You'd all be better off if I wasn't such a loser."

"You're not a loser." She reached out, grabbing his hand and squeezing it.

"I'm glad you don't think so." He looked unconvinced.

"You're a hard-working person who cares deeply about people. You put your heart into everything, even if it doesn't turn out the way you hoped. You couldn't have prevented what happened to you. It wasn't your fault, and no one blames you for what happened. As soon as your hand is fully functional, you'll be able to go back to doing what you love. I know being home all the time isn't always fulfilling."

Charlie looked uncomfortable with that statement, but he nodded. "I just wish I was half as good at balancing all this stuff as you are."

"You'll get there. I promise."

For the rest of dinner, Charlie seemed a little reserved, but more cheered, and the conversation turned back to other things. When they got home, Charlie's mother was waiting, and all three children were, amazingly, sound asleep in their beds at the same time. Shelby hoped it lasted. There were some nights when all three slept the entire night through, and she hoped this would be one of them.

She was undressing for bed when she felt Charlie move up behind her, his arms wrapping lovingly around her waist, his breath on her neck. Smiling, she relaxed into his embrace and turned, kissing him warmly.

Just because the children were in bed early didn't mean they had to be.

 **August 27** **th** **, 1990**

Franz was trying his best not to have another heart-attack as he stood there along the quiet air field outside Central in the pre-dawn light. While he knew that the plan counted on quick execution in getting it into motion, the fact that it was Sara's plan, and that Sara was involved in physical going in any way, raised his anxiety levels.  
The crew for the plane was a small one, given this was primarily an insurgent drop. Gavril Mihalov and Niki Marskaya, along with Mina Leopold—one of the Drachman Embassy aides—were the three Drachmans going into western Drachma to kick off the coup. The Amestrian team, there to demonstrate support and help negotiate, but primarily to drop them off and get out again, consisted of Sara as the senior officer, and Trisha as pilot. That was it.

While, intellectually, Franz knew that they would be taking every precaution not to be noticed, and get in and out quickly, the idea of Sara going back into Drachma at all, and Trisha going with her, terrified him.

He couldn't help thinking of the argument they'd had a few nights ago when he had tried, for the tenth time, to talk Sara out of going. It had not gone well.

 _"No, Franz," Sara shook her head firmly as she stood, hands firmly on her hips, in the middle of the living room. "I told you, I'm going. I'm medically cleared for anything likely to come up on this mission, even though all it should end up being is a series of diplomatic talks. I'm cleared for basic combat and I'm not about to push myself. Besides, I'm the best and most logical choice."  
_

 _Franz had heard it before, and he still didn't buy it. "Because you were their prisoner? You're not the only person we have we could send who speaks their language. We have Ambassadors for that."  
_

 _"Not who know these people the way I do."  
_

 _"We are sending actual Drachmans for that." Gavril Mihalov and Niki Marskaya were more than capable of representing their own people, translating, and understanding what it was these people wanted and needed. "Don't you think maybe this is because of how they treated you? Is this some way of proving you're not helpless anymore? That they didn't win?"  
_

 _"You really think this is some kind of personal redemption play?" Sara scoffed. "I don't have anything to prove to anyone that hasn't been proven by the simple fact that I survived, and I'm living my life."  
_

 _"Except that you didn't escape on your own."  
_

 _"No, I didn't, but I did everything I could to fight them for as long as I could. It doesn't bother_ me _that a plane full of friends and family busted me out of a near-impossible situation. I'm grateful, but I also spent years getting to know these people, and understand them from the inside, where they have no reason to hide anything. I learned how they were manipulated in ways no one from the outside, even other Drachmans, would. That, and this whole thing was my idea, so it's my mission."  
"You still have nightmares about that place," he objected. They still made her toss, turn shout, and sometimes woke them both. Not every night, but it would be a long, long time before they ever went away, if they did.  
_

 _Her expression didn't soften, though her tone did just a little. "I appreciate that you're concerned, but going or not going is not going to change that. It might even help, but that's not the reason I'm going. Call it Alchemist's intuition if you want, or Elric intuition, or just an incredibly educated guess or a gut feeling backed up by logic, but I need to go. No one else has objected strenuously."  
_

 _He was glad she made the qualifier, because there had been a few raised eyebrows and questions when she insisted on going. No one else had been willing to stand up to her however and tell her no. Almost no one else had the authority.  
_

 _"That doesn't make this the best idea. I will admit, to being the one with the most to lose if something happens to you…and our daughter." He wasn't thrilled with Trisha going either, but with limited pilots, and sending a second alchemist as back up, it was logically sound. "It hasn't even been a year, and you're running full tilt back into a situation that is far riskier than the one that we all thought had actually killed you."  
_

 _"What else can I do?" she asked. "This is who I am, and that, at least, is a part of who I've always been. This feels right. It doesn't feel like a suicide mission. It's not some trick. We've got everything carefully planned out, and if anyone can coordinate and improvise with minimal planning, it's me and Trisha. Unless you have a completely valid_ military _reason not to send me, then please stop trying to talk me out of it."  
_

 _A reason he didn't have. Not really. She had been cleared for the level of duties, even light combat, which might be necessary. She hadn't pushed herself beyond her physical capabilities, and that was part of why she had healed steadily. "All right, but you had better be right about this."  
_

 _Only then did Sara relax. "Even if you don't trust them; trust me."_

That had been the end of it. Not that he felt better about it. Still, all that aside, it was essential that they get Mihalov out of Amestris before his presence was known to anyone outside the Summit, and that meant that time was at a premium. The mission, if it was successful, would only take a few days as far as Sara and Trisha's part. They would not be staying longer than it took to establish communications protocols and make sure they didn't need to remove Mihalov and Marskaya from a hostile situation.

Sara hugged him tightly after they finished the flight pre-check and boarding. "I'll be fine," she whispered in his ear. "You'd better be alive when I get back."

Franz returned the hug fiercely, but her comment made him chuckle. "I have every intention of being so. I _order_ you to come back quickly, and in one piece."

"I'll see you in a few days." Sara kissed him before letting go. Then she turned and boarded the plane.

As Franz stood alone, watching it turn, and taxi down the road, gaining speed until it lifted into the air, he sent up a silent prayer, to anyone or no one, whoever might be listening, to protect them all. He understood that Sara's presence, given her previous history in the region, would be beneficial towards their ends, and that she was the best qualified person for the job, but that didn't make him happy about it.

Her words from a few nights ago came back to him as he finally turned and walked back towards the car. _What good is a second chance at my life if I don't make the most of it?_

* * *

The initial hours of the flight were almost festive, Sara thought, as Trisha flew them north-westward, away from Central, avoiding going directly over towns. Gavril Mihalov, Mina Leopold, and Niki Marskaya were no less impressed with the miraculous views and reality of flying through the sky as anyone else who had been on the plane. The novelty of the situation was enough to keep the mood light and conversation on what Trisha knew about the aircraft and how it worked. Mostly the story turned to how it had been liberated from the Hashman Syndicate years ago, which Trisha told with almost as much gusto as when Sara had heard it from her father just a few months ago. Trisha even used similar inflections and phrasing in several places, that told Sara her daughter had heard it many times from the same source.

Gavril and Niki were suitably impressed. Sara saw no reason not to answer any questions they had. After all, if the Zinoveks were building aircraft—and she had to assume that they would be rebuilding, despite Ted and Roy's successful raid—than the Drachmans would have them again, and she would rather they be responsibly used if this plan worked even in part, and they came back under the control of a more friendly Drachman government.

Eventually, discussion returned to their mission, and the plan ahead, which involved stopping first at the largest, and most well-fortified of the prison work towns. Lyntar, which was also the largest and most extensive set of mines in the mountains, sat mid-way between the northern and southern borders, and was equally half-way between where the country rose up to the mountainous plateaus, and the border with Kartos and the ocean. Even if Savahin got wind of what was happening, there was no quick or secret way to reach Lyntar. There were only the main highways through the mountains.

The prison there was not in any way a maximum security facility. In fact, it had been the one Sara had given the most trouble. She was _almost_ looking forward to this meeting.

First, however, they needed to set up an actual meeting. Much of their planning had gone into deciding the exact timing and phrasing of contact. It had been decided that they would wait until the plane was within radio distance of Lyntar itself, and then Gavril would use the appropriate communication frequency to contact the Mayor of Lyntar, whom intelligence reported had stayed very diligently out of Savahin's bad graces, but was not at all pleased with the new regime. The prison had received a large influx of new inmates, without any additional funding, and it had already been near capacity. While additional workforce might have been appreciated, the inability to properly feed, clothe, or house them was making conditions more than unpleasant. Niki was certain that the Mayor was one of the sources leaking intelligence to the resistance, and that was exactly the sort of person they needed to get this plan rolling; a man with principals, even regarding people for whom few had any regard, and who was well respected in the region. Others would follow if he did.

At least, that was the hope. In her own time there, Sara had never met Timon Ashkov, only heard the name.

She wondered if he remembered the trouble-making alchemist who had staged multiple nearly-successful mass prison breaks.

* * *

As it turned out, they wouldn't have to wait long to find out. The flight, which put them in Lyntar by evening, gave them enough time to make contact and schedule a meeting for that very night. Apparently, Timon Ashkov was _very_ interested in a personal visit from Mihalov, and one of the Marskaya boys, and their allies. The specifics of the allies coming was not discussed, nor the means of their arrival. Only the fact that there was no way they had anything that could shoot the plane out of the sky kept Sara from worrying that they wouldn't make it to the ground.

This was Gavril's mission, and from the point Trisha landed the plane on the highway on the edge of town, at the location they had told Ashkov they would be arriving, Sara stepped back and let him have it.

Timon Ashkov was not one of the people waiting for them at the appointed spot, but then they had not expected him to be. What they were met by was a group of four people, at least two of which appeared to be local constabulary, and two cars. The others were a man and a woman, though Sara could not identify anything about them beyond that.

As they disembarked, Sara made sure to tuck the small emergency radio into her sock. Trisha was staying with the plane. If, for some reason, things did _not_ go well, they wouldn't be stuck in Drachma without an escape vehicle.

:Gavril Mihalov, it is an unexpected pleasure to meet you.: The woman, who appeared to be in her mid-20s, stepped forward and took his hand in greeting. :My father is awaiting you. He has held dinner for you in light of your arrival.:

:Our thanks, Miss Ashkov,: Gavril returned the shake, smiling as if this was just an everyday visit, :Both for the consideration and the agreement to meeting with me on such short notice. I am afraid that, these days, I must make all of my appointments with minimal notice.:

:I understand, sir.: Miss Ashkov nodded. :These days, we have to be very discrete. If you and your staff will please step into the cars, we will take you directly to the house.:  
In short order, everyone was shuffled into the cars, each with two of the Lyntar Drachmans. Sara was unsurprised to find herself shuffled into the second car with Mina, while Gavril and Niki were in the first with Miss Ashkov. She had come in civilian attire on purpose, and was content to purposefully allow herself to be misidentified as just another aide or secretary, or possibly discrete security. It was unlikely that she would be recognized, particularly not with her hair pulled up uncharacteristically in a very short bun. Her gloves were cleverly disguised alchemist's gloves, in which she'd had Lia carefully stitch her preferred circles on the underside of black leather winter gloves, so no one could see the circles, and they simply looked like women's gloves. No one would look twice at them.

Not that she thought she would need them, but there was no way she was returning to a Drachman prison as a "guest."

The Ashkov house was, like most of the homes in the town, three stories tall, and crammed on a narrow street. Everything was made of the same dark, foreboding stone that was bleak even in nice weather. Still, it was the largest of the row-houses, being nearly triple the length of the others. That was all that made it the Mayor's house.  
They were escorted _en masse_ directly to the dining room, where they finally got their first look at Timon Ashkov, a graying man, in his fifties if Sara had to guess.

:Gavril Mihalov, in the flesh!: Ashkov smiled warmly as he came forward, shaking Gavril's hand with a firm grip. :It is good to see you alive and well, though I admit to having been a bit skeptical about the rumors of your survival until you contacted me.:

Gavril shrugged, but smiled as he returned the shake with an equal grip. :Rumors sometimes bear truth. I hope this means you will be willing to hear out our proposal.:

:I am willing to listen to anything,: Ashkov admitted. :While I make no promises to do anything beyond that without hearing it first, I am quite curious as to what you think we can do about the situation in Petrayevka, when it looks as if the resistance is all but finished.:

:Ah, but it only looks that way.: Niki stepped forward. :I can assure you that my father and his comrades and followers are not at all defeated, merely waiting for the right time and orders to strike.:

:You must be Niki Marskaya. You have your father's expression.: Ashkov shook Niki's hand.

Niki shrugged, even as he returned the shake as well. :So I'm told. I'm here to speak on his behalf, with negotiating authority for the Eastern portion of the resistance.: He then turned and gestured to Sara and Mina. :You will find our other allies words carry equal weight.:

Only now did Ashkov show any real interest in the two women, when they were referred to as _allies._ :You said you had backing for your idea that would be worth my while. I presume these ladies are important then, though I admit I do not recognize them.:

:That's because we're not often seen on Drachman television,: Sara took control of the moment and stepped forward. :This is Mina Leopold, an aide at the Drachman Embassy in Central, Amestris, and member of the diplomatic corps that Savahin has abandoned.:

Ashkov blinked, shaking Mina's hand as she came forward. :You came here from Amestris? How did you get out? How did you get _here?_ Was that the origin of your flight in that aircraft sitting outside my city?:

At last, someone who was not a fool. Sara nodded. :You would be correct. I do hope you told your people not to mess with our transportation. The security is excellent.:

:I warned them to leave it and the pilot alone,: Ashkov acknowledged, though he was now looking at Sara warily. : _You_ are not Drachman, though your accent is almost flawless and reminiscent of this region:

Sara smiled. :Very observant, Mayor Ashkov. I am here, primarily, as transportation, and as proof that this offer and idea is very serious, and very real.: She held out her hand. :Sara Elric Heimler, at your service.:

Ashkov's face went briefly ashen, though he recovered quickly, taking her hand. She noticed the grip was not quite as firm as the others. : _Heimler._ The Heimler who escaped from Valhov… General Heimler… _alchemist_ Heimler?:

Apparently he was aware of international news after all. The moment was too good to pass up. Sara nodded. :You might know me better as prisoner three-three-five-six-oh-two-nine-four. I'm afraid I destroyed a few walls during my last stay in Lyntar.:

For a moment, she thought he was going to drop her hand. :I… I must apologize,: he stammered, now truly flustered. :I did not know—:

:Don't,: Sara cut him off. :You have thousands of political prisoners within the walls of the prison. If you do not intend to apologize to them, do not apologize to me. As you might imagine, I have a very personal mission to see that the prison system in Drachma is reformed and fixed. That cannot happen unless Savahin and the Zinoveks are removed, and a more civil government is restored. I am here to speak for your new potential allies, should you choose to accept the offer being made to you here this evening. Shall we eat?:

Gavril flashed her an appreciative smile as Ashkov agreed with her and they all moved to their seats. Dinner itself was a relatively quiet affair with Ashkov, his wife, and daughter. Dinner conversation focused mostly on a very edited version of Gavril's escape from Karmatsk with Niki, and their braving Amestris as a potential safe place. It was better to leave out unnecessary details, including Amestrian involvement. After dinner, they adjourned to a sitting room, where Gavril carefully laid out the entire plan, with occasional inclusions from Niki, regarding the split of the Western region of Drachma, and how that would hamstring Savahin's operation, allowing them to divide and conquer the country, winning it back in sections. Gavril also spent a good bit of time explaining the idea of allowing those regions to continue to exist as states with more autonomy, with a less invasive, though still representative, central government. He assured him of the option that should a region choose to decide to become a separate country, they wished only the opportunity to make a treaty of alliance and would not fight it.

:It's time for the myriad regions of Drachma to be allowed their identities.:

Ashkov sipped his drink, looking both intrigued and thoughtful. :I admit, it's a fascinating, and tempting idea.: His eyes fell on Sara. :Why would Amestris send _you_ to represent potential foreign allies?:

:You mean other than the fact this was my idea?: Sara asked flatly. :Timon, who would you be more likely to trust, some Amestrian diplomat with some study of Drachma, or someone who has lived here? If _I_ can see that Drachma deserves better, than our allies, and yours, are more likely to believe.:

:It still does little to put you at risk,: Ashkov pointed out. :If we do not manage to successfully demonstrate our own autonomy—if the Zinovek's crush us—than you will have no need to get involved.:

:That, is very much not true,: Sara shook her head. :Think. If the Western portion of Drachma fails, it continues to leave our allies, Kartos and Creta, directly exposed to Savahin's expansionist attempts, as well as leaving us open to retaliation and another costly war with an enemy we have never wanted. If you demonstrate the ability to become a viable state, than the allied nations will support you, and gain a new ally whom we can afford to trade with fairly for resources. You will still need imports from elsewhere for what does not grow well in these mountains. You do not need to form a new country, only raise enough support to separate yourselves from _this one,_ who clearly does not give one whit for draining you dry, and overcrowding your prisons. His projects and need for military force are sucking the resources out of here. You know it, and I know it. You _have_ the basis for enough resistance that if you combine the forces of the towns here, and with the various resistance cells that are trying to survive on their own, you could do this. It's very possible.:

:But arming _prisoners?_ :

:They are your allies. I'm not saying release murderers, I'm talking about thousands of people whose crimes are in disagreeing with or being inconvenient for political and noble powers over decades, or trying to survive. The ones fortunate enough not to have been put to death. Offer amnesty, or a new chance at life, or at least a review of their cases, and you would have an army willing to throw themselves at the newest version of a government that none of them trust.:

They waited then, in the quiet, as Ashkov thought deeply, and Sara knew it was best not to disturb him. If they didn't, she was almost certain they had him, and as the Mayor of the biggest town, if they had him, they had a good chance of getting the cooperation of the rest of the towns in the region.

If they didn't, well, they might have to fight their way out to get out of here.

Finally, Ashkov nodded, and sighed. :I'm in, if you can get the support of the others.:


	52. Chapter 52

**September 2** **nd** **, 1990**

The sound of shattering glass sent Alyse running from her office, down the stairs. "Calvin?" she called out, worry clutching at her chest. "Are you all right?"  
As soon as she hit the bottom of the stairs she could see him, and her terror eased slightly, but only just.

Cal sat on the couch, his head buried in both hands, shaking.

"Honey? What's the matter?" Alyse crossed the floor, taking in the broken glass on the kitchen floor, and the phone hanging off the hook on the wall between the two rooms.

"Sit down, 'Lyse."

Without question, she complied, but the dread returned. "Calvin… _tell me._ "

"Charlie's left."

"No." The word came unbidden, but even as the denial left her lips she knew it was only that. "Why would he leave? Where did he go?"

"He… left Shelby a note," Cal's expression twisted through a complex series of conflicting emotions, none of them positive. "He said… he couldn't take being a burden anymore…being useless…screwing up everything. So, he left."

Alyse sat down next to him, her throat so tight it felt like she couldn't breathe. "Did he leave any idea of where he went?"

Cal shook his head. "All he said was he'd send money when he found a job. No word about where he'd be. I—I can't believe he just up and left his wife, his children… everything. He's not even done with his auto-mail rehabilitation."

Yet that was what he had just done. Despite counseling. Despite physical therapy to regain the use of his limb with his new one. Despite what appeared to be an improving family situation and relationship with Shelby. Somewhere, they had missed something. Alyse knew it. A sign, a concern. Somewhere in all of this, some need of his had not been addressed, and he had felt useless, he had felt like _this_ was the best thing he could do for his family? What could have twisted everything up so badly that was how he saw things? Her heart was breaking inside. "What do we do about it?" she asked Cal softly, the sting of hot tears on her cheeks.

Cal's face was still ashen. "I don't know there's anything we can do. It's terrible, but not illegal. Not that having the police hunt him down as a missing person would help the situation. Dragging him back against his will? He'd never forgive us."

There was so much to this she just didn't have answers for, and fears she could hardly stand to put into words. "What if he hurts himself?"

Under her hand, she felt every muscle in her husband's body tighten. "I don't think it's at that point," Cal replied after a moment. "Not if he said he was finding work. I don't know where he's gone, but if what he needs is to feel like he's contributing, then maybe he'll find that. Maybe he needs a break, or maybe he doesn't feel like he can deal with things and not break down in front of his kids. I just don't know. I feel like somehow we should have seen it coming."

She knew that tone, and as much as she felt the same on some levels, Alyse reached around Cal and hugged him. "No one is a mind reader. If he felt this way, he never said it in words. What's done… is done. Either he'll contact someone eventually, or he'll send money as he promised, or he'll come to his senses and come home. If he left this morning, he could be anywhere in a dozen towns in Amestris by now, if he even left the city."

Cal turned towards her, returning her hug with a fierce embrace. "That doesn't mean I won't see if we can track him down and at least find out where he is," he replied firmly.

"Damn it. I just want him to be okay, but right now I'm also mad enough to punch him in the face."

"You're not the only one," Alyse admitted. "I can't just sit here worrying. I'm going to do some damage control. I take it Shelby called from home?"

Cal nodded. "She'd just found the note before she called me. She needs you."

"Well, I'm heading right over." She let go of Cal only when his own grip on her eased. "Shelby needs us. Even if Charlie comes to his senses and comes home tomorrow, there's dinner to make, babies to get to sleep, and support to be given."

Cal didn't smile, but the look in his face was deep with love and admiration. "You know you're amazing."

"Thank you." She responded with a brief kiss. "Do you want to come?"

Cal shook his head. "Maybe later. I need to get a start on figuring out where he went or it will drive me crazy."

"I understand. Will you be all right for dinner?"

"There's leftovers. I'll be fine. You go take care of Shelby."

That was all she needed. Not that Cal was okay, but he was perfectly capable of handling himself for a few hours. Besides, by the time she got back, they might have more information, or Charlie might even have come to his senses and come home.

Until then, she was needed.

* * *

Cal had been honest with Alyse; at least in that he would go crazy if he didn't start getting some information and trying to locate his son, and that he would be fine with leftovers. As soon as she left, he made himself move into action. First, he cleaned up the broken glass of water all over the kitchen floor. Then he picked up the phone and started making calls. It was possible, however slim, that Charlie might have told someone something before simply picking up and leaving.

But the few of Charlie's friends Cal had current numbers for hadn't heard a thing. Most of them said they hadn't talked to Charlie lately, but that they would call if they heard from him. Other calls confirmed he had not gone in for his physical therapy appointment earlier today, and he wasn't at the auto-mail shop.

Finally, because he had no other choices, Cal took to the streets. He drove around town, checking in various stores where Charlie and Shelby did their shopping, and glancing in the windows of Charlie's favorite restaurants, wandering through shops, just hoping maybe he'd find his son lurking somewhere in town.

As the sun set, and night settled in, Cal's frenetic energy began to fail him… and he began to feel that he really wasn't going to find his son anywhere in town. He tried the bus station, and the train. No one had any record of a transaction with someone of that name, but all that told him was that Charlie would probably have paid in cash.  
Cal made one last circle around town, this time stopping to glance into every bar he could find, praying that the worst would be finding his son drunk somewhere, where he could talk to him, and find out what was wrong. Even there, he had no luck, and none of the bartenders Cal knew had seen him; and they would have recognized him.  
Finally, he had to give up and go home.

The house was still empty when he arrived, except for the cat, who rubbed up against him until he fed her. Cal had no appetite, but he made himself heat up leftover pork loin and vegetables and eat a reasonable dinner out of habit, and because Alyse would notice if he skipped a meal. He hardly tasted it. Afterwards, he washed his dishes, left them in the rack to dry, and found himself twitchy, but with nothing else productive to do. Circling the city endlessly would gain him nothing, nor would calling people he'd already called, and he couldn't bring himself to call Shelby's parents. If Shelby hadn't called them herself, he didn't want to talk to her father, who had never liked Charlie in the first place.

Which left Cal in the uncomfortable position of being alone, with too much to think about and nothing to keep him from thinking it. Determined to keep his mind from the dark well of recrimination and guilt he could sense coming, Cal cleaned up the rest of the house—which was unfortunately fairly clean—including the cat box, then took himself upstairs and showered, shaved, and cleaned the bedroom.

He had resorted to re-sorting and folding socks when he finally heard the door downstairs.

"Calvin?"

"Up here."

He heard feet on the stairs, and then Alyse came into the bedroom. "What are you doing?"

"Trying not to think," Cal admitted as he finished the last sock, and started putting them all back into the drawer in neat rows. "I'm beginning to wonder if I ever understood my son at all."

He regretted his words at Alyse's crestfallen expression. She came over to the bed and sat down beside him. "Cal—"

"Look, forget it. I'll be fine." The last thing he wanted was to let himself go down that road. "How's Shelby?"

"Miserable," Alyse replied, leaning against his shoulder. Instinctively, Cal put his arm around her, taking as much comfort from her as she did from him. "She thought things were getting better between them, and then he just _left._ There weren't any fights, he was always home and where he said he would be… half the time she was furious with him, and the other half furious with herself and convinced she'd done something. Not that she said anything in front of the little ones. Once she got them in bed though…. Oh, Cal, it's breaking my heart." She turned, wrapping her arms around him, and he pulled her in for a full hug. "There are so many questions and unknowns, and she's half-convinced he's just going to disappear and she'll never hear from him again, no matter what the letter says, and she'll be stuck working part time, with three kids, trying to find a way to get through school so she can get a real job that would actually support them all… We spent most of our time sitting, and I just let her talk. She's a lot like me… planning everything out and coming up with alternatives is her way of convincing herself everything isn't falling apart and she's got some control."

"That does sound like you," Cal admitted. "Did it work?"

"Temporarily, maybe. We moved past initial panic and despondence into short-term solutions and what to tell Abigail, since the other two are too young to really understand anything."

Cal cringed. "What _are_ you going to tell her?"

"The truth of what he said in the letter, in a simpler way, that he is finding work and that means he's not going to be home for a bit."

"A bit?"

"Hopefully we can find him and convince him that he doesn't have to do this before it takes too long, or at least resolve whatever is going on here," Alyse replied, and Cal could see that she wasn't that far from breaking down herself, after holding it together for Shelby all evening. "I know we can help them, and Mom and Dad would never kick her out of the house, even if she couldn't afford the rent, but right now she feels like she's failing at everything, and it's tearing her up…and it's tearing me up. I want to cry, and scream, and I'm so worried about Charlie, but I want to smack him too…. But I just want to know he's okay…and find out what he's thinking. I know he's a grown man, but right now I want my baby."

Cal hugged her tighter, and Alyse cried on his shoulder, and Cal cried, his own tears falling on his arms around her back, and they held each other until there was no moisture left to wring out, and only emotional exhaustion. It was then that Cal realized they had one more call they needed to make that could not wait until morning. "Do you want to tell Gloria, or should I?"

 **September 3** **rd** **, 1990**

It was unlike Gloria to be late, even—or perhaps especially—to an early morning breakfast date. Concerned, Alexei left the little café, taking their pastries and coffees to go, and walked the block to Gloria's apartment, wondering if he should have just stopped by on the way in the first place. Given his fiancée was almost never late anywhere, and was not prone to sleeping in, it hadn't occurred to him that it might be necessary.

He was entirely unprepared for the site that met him when she finally opened the door. It was very clear that if she had slept at all, it had not been well, because Gloria's face was a dry-tear stained mess, and her hair still rumpled and uncombed, which had turned her normal ordered curls into a frizzy nest. She was mostly dressed for the day, but still in her slippers.

Upon seeing him, her eyes widened, and her mouth opened a moment as she remembered, he presumed, that they were meeting earlier than usual this morning. Or that they had been. "Alexei! I am so sorry. I completely forgot."

Which, in itself, told him that something of epic proportions must have happened to make her forget. "No harm done," he assured her, holding up the bag of pastry and the two-cup holder containing both coffees. "I brought breakfast. But are you okay? You look upset." An understatement, really.

Gloria stepped aside so he could enter the apartment. "You could say that," she replied. "I didn't sleep well last night. My parents called with…disturbing news."

Disturbing and parents did not belong in the same sentence. Alexei winced, setting everything down on the table, and turning to look at her. "What was it?"

Gloria looked for a moment like she might start crying, but her voice was steady as she said quietly, "yesterday, my brother… left."

It took Alexei a moment to parse what that meant. When the realization hit, he was stunned. "Left his _family?_ "

"And town, apparently." Gloria nodded. "He left a note saying he was going to find work and he'd send money back, but nothing about coming home, or when anyone might see him, or where he was going. No one has any idea where he's gone, and they've looked all over Central, called all his friends. They hoped maybe he'd have said something to me. Not that he _ever_ tells me anything anyway." The words came faster, and the tone grew increasingly more frustrated and hurt. "So I spent all night worrying about Charlie, and about Shelby, and their kids… and then getting angry, and then being hurt that he didn't tell his sister he was feeling any of the things the letter said he was feeling and I don't know where he is, or if he's okay, or if he'll be here in October or…"

There went the tears. Alexei gathered her in his arms, torn between concern for her brother, and for her, and her entire family, and a little of that same anger, though it was more at the situation in general. He did not want to judge too harshly before he knew facts. Charlie had been through a lot, and maybe in his own mind, this had made sense and there was something that hadn't been said or had been lost in translation.

But right now, his beloved was hurting, and that at least, he could do a little something about. He held her as renewed tears poured out, hugging her and just letting her know with his presence that someone who loved her was here for her. Her family might be in Central, but she was not in any way alone.

Gloria clutched him tightly, though in the end, she did not cry for very long. After a couple of minutes, he heard a deep breath, and she steadied, and straightened up. "Thank you," she replied sincerely, even though she didn't smile. "I needed that."

"I thought you might. Breakfast?"

"Yes please."

The coffee was still hot, the pastries still warm, and they sat in companionable silence over breakfast, while Gloria gathered herself. By the time they had eaten and caffeinated, she was much more her usual composed self. "Will you be all right today?" he asked after she had gone and finished getting dressed.

Gloria nodded. "Work is just what I need right now. It'll keep me from thinking too much while there's nothing I can do. Besides, I'm getting a new story assigned at work today, and I have no intention of being late and them deciding to hand someone else my scoop."

"Can I ask what the story is?" Alexei queried.

Gloria smiled at him. "Absolutely not. The last thing I need is another publication stealing my story. I'll tell you about it later."

Which was pretty much what he expected. He kissed her one more time before they headed out the door. "That's what I figured. You can't blame me for trying."

"No. I'd have asked the same thing."

* * *

Cal Fischer had worked hungover more days in his life than he would care to admit. Unfortunately, he had developed better judgment over the years, and this morning he felt horrible without any overindulgence to have made it worth it. Instead, he had slept badly. Even after Alyse had fallen asleep, he had lain there, awake, until nearly morning, and then slept fitfully until he had needed to be up for work.

His only motivation for arriving at work on time had been to set in motion the only actions left that he could take.

In the privacy of Cal's office, he watched Tore's face turned from shocked and disbelieving, to sympathetic and focused, as he told his friend what had happened.

"I've got someone I can put on this," Tore told him when he was done. "Better you don't know who it is, just for plausible deniability if they ask why you were diverting military personnel. But we'll find him and keep tabs on him."

"Thanks, Shock." Cal didn't want them to drag Charlie in. What he had done was stupid, and unfair, but it wasn't illegal. He just wanted to make sure his son hadn't done anything even more rash than what they knew about. What kind of frame of mind must he have been in to decide that the _best_ decision was to leave without giving his wife and children even any warning? "Keep me updated."

Tore nodded. "I will. I just wish there was more I could do."

"If there is, I'll tell you," Cal promised. "Right now, I'm still adjusting to the fact there's not much else _I_ can do. Not for my son, not until I find him." He would do everything he could for Shelby and his grandkids. None of them deserved to be treated this way. This morning, Alyse had taken all of her work with her over to the other house so she could watch the children while Shelby had class, and went to her job later. "I feel like somewhere, I failed as a parent."

"Charlie's not a boy," Tore pointed out. "He hasn't been for a while. Bad decisions or no, you taught him the best you could. This isn't about quality of parenting, Cal. If it were, Gloria wouldn't be the brilliant woman she is. You have a daughter who does everything right, even inserting herself into a Drachman resistance movement in escaping and turning it into the scoop that will make her career. She's got just as much of you in her as Charlie does. Charlie's just… well he's like you…and he's like me, and I'm not even related to him. We've all made rash, stupid decisions when we weren't thinking clearly. If Charisa hadn't had more sense than me, we might've been in the same place Charlie and Shelby are now. Instead, I ran away and almost got myself killed, and that was before I was an adult. It wasn't Fullmetal's fault, or Winry's. They were great to me. That doesn't mean I didn't make even more mistakes after that one. I'd never take it back, because Dare was worth every moment, but I was a mess for a long time after the war. The fact that only a very small number of people still active duty remember me back then is probably the only reason my subordinates can take me seriously."

Cal listened and didn't argue, mostly because he was too tired, and because what Tore said still made a lot of sense. He remembered the hot-headed boy he'd made friends with when they worked together on the Drachman front, all those years ago. The one too old for his age, yet too young to be ready for what he'd seen. He hadn't been any more ready for war than Charlie had been. Tore had just been luckier. Even then, he'd had a poorly considered relationship that had ended in a broken engagement, and eventually unplanned single fatherhood. Yet, in the long run, he'd turned out just fine, and so had his son. "I know. That doesn't make it easier right now, though."

"I get that. Look, I'll go get that in the works now. If there's anything Charisa or I can do outside of work, just let me know." Tore stood, and left him alone.

Cal looked at the pile of reports on his desk with a mingled feeling of dread and resignation. Still, he picked up the first page and a pen. Retirement was coming. Just a little longer, as soon as this Drachman situation hit at the very least a truce, hopefully a long-term resolution, he could leave with a clean conscience.

 **September 6** **th** **, 1990**

The day was almost too perfect, Alphonse thought, as he walked down the country lane with Winry, who had engaged his help in carrying a freshly prepared afternoon meal to Urey and Raina's house because _no one with a newborn in the house should have to cook their own meals._ Not that Al disagreed in the slightest. Raina had delivered the night before last, a full week early, and they had come home this morning.

The sun was shining, birds were chirping from every bush, and the leaves were just turning the first blushes of red and gold. It was just the cure for a worried mind which was, he presumed, why Winry had asked _him_ to help, instead of Edward. Elicia had taken dinner over the evening before for Urey, Yurian, and Brynne, and had buried herself this morning in a craft project.

Alphonse did not like being at loose ends, but that was very much how he had felt since Alyse called to tell them about Charlie. He hated seeing his daughter and her family hurting, and was worried about his grandson. In the couple of days since the news, nothing new had been found. In the short-term, Alyse was doing her best to help Shelby keep things in the house and their schedule as normal as possible so the little ones wouldn't be worried. Long term, well, that would depend on Charlie.

"He'll come home, Al."

"I hope so, Winry." Alphonse didn't even think to ask how Winry had known what was on his mind. After so many years, it was to be expected. "He's been through a lot, and not everyone reacts the same way to difficult experiences." Not everyone was as resilient as him, or Edward, and even they had struggled through a lot of things in their lives, not always well.

"Sometimes people need time to clear their heads, and getting away helps them do that, and see how much they really miss what they had. In my experience, the people who love you will come back if they can." Winry walked beside him, her arms holding one box. Alphonse had the other two. She watched the road carefully. "You and Ed did. Sometimes they need help finding their way home again, even when they want to, like Tore. Whether they've told us or not, I would bet a year's profits that Cal or Tore has _someone_ tracking down Charlie. After all, they learned everything from you two." At that, she did glance sideways briefly at Alphonse, smiling encouragingly. "I'm worried too, but the best thing to do when you're worried is keep busy."

"Which is why we're walking all the way there instead of using the car?" Alphonse asked lightly.

"The fresh air and exercise don't hurt either." Winry confirmed. "Besides, who isn't cheered by a newborn baby?"

"Unenthusiastic older siblings?" Alphonse quipped.

Winry just shook her head, and they continued walking in companionable silence until they reached the house. Urey met them at the door, which was good, because with his hands full, Alphonse could not have opened it.

Urey looked tired, but happy, as one might expect from a father of newly-three. Alphonse was glad to see he did not look particularly panicked. Everything had gone just fine. "Thank you, Granny," he grinned at Winry as he took the box she held and let them into the house. "Between you and Mom we'll be spoiled rotten, and that's before Raina's folks get here."

"Always happy to help," Winry assured him.

They reached the kitchen and Al put the other two boxes down on the table. Between all three, there was a vegetable-noodle casserole, a basket of fresh bread, a pan of oven-roasted chicken, and an apple pie. It all smelled delicious. Alphonse would have been jealous, except they had smaller amounts of all of them still at home for _them_ to eat for dinner.

Outside the kitchen window, Alphonse could see Yurian keeping an eye on his little sister as they played on the swing. That explained the quiet in the house.

"How's Raina?" Winry asked as they unpacked the food. "Is she up?"

Urey nodded. "She's great. It's been a pretty restful morning actually. Ewan's been a pretty good eater so far, and a champion napper."

"And other things."

Alphonse turned and saw Raina standing in the kitchen doorway in loose, comfortable blue sweats, holding her baby boy.

Raina smiled at them as she held Ewan out to his father. "Diaper time."

Urey almost literally dropped the food as he set it down and reached for the baby. "I've got it." He kissed her cheek and vanished from the room.

Raina turned to them, looking tired but content. "This smells _amazing._ Thank you both so much."

"I'm just the pack mule," Alphonse chuckled. "Winry made it all."

"Well thank you for being a pack mule then," Raina stepped up to the table and looked at everything. "Standing in the kitchen for any length of time is not my idea of a good time right now."

"I'd say not," Winry smiled sympathetically. "Do you want us to go, or would it be better if we stayed and served up lunch?"

"Please stay a little while," Raina insisted. "You walked all the way over, and I'm sure Yurian and Brynne would love having someone around for a bit besides us."

"You mean someone with energy?" Alphonse suggested knowingly.

"Exactly."

"Well, on top of pack mule duties, I do have a lot of experience being a jungle gym." Urey had great kids, and they could be a nice distraction for each other for a bit. "You handle lunch, and I'll go demonstrate my prowess, shall I?"

"Thank you, Alphonse." Raina looked relieved, and Alphonse left her and Winry to the quiet of the kitchen.

As he opened the back door, his arrival was met with squeals of excitement and shouts from his great-grand-niece and –nephew, of "Can you push us higher on the swing?"

"Of course I can," Alphonse promised, feeling his mood lift a little, even as he found himself missing his own great-grandchildren. "I'm an expert."


	53. Chapter 53

**October 5** **th** **, 1990**

Sara felt both triumphant and relieved as her feet once again touched Amestrian soil. It was barely dawn, and just as when they left, there was only one car awaiting them at the landing strip outside the city. Though they had returned with a much smaller crew than they had gone out with, which was just as it should be.

She had waited to disembark until Trisha had parked the plane back in its hanger, but then she was on the ground, and in the waiting arms of Franz, whose crushing hug told her unnecessarily just how much she had been missed, and how much he had feared she would not return. Sara returned his embrace by kissing him soundly. When their lips parted, she grinned. "Miss me?"

"Hells, you know I did." Franz gave her a momentarily disbelieving look. "I've barely slept in a month."

"I told you to take care of yourself," she scolded, though there was no vehemence behind it, given he was obviously alive and well.

"Oh, I did," he assured her. "I had enough nagging nannies at home and at work to make you happy." Franz relaxed then. "Your last transmission said things went well."

Sara nodded. "Very well. I can't wait to give our full report to the summit members. They should definitely expect Western Drachma, under the provisional leadership of Gavril Mihalov to declare itself independent from the rest of the country any day now. How many of them are still here?"

"All of them," Franz reported. "They're all dying to know if this crazy plan of yours has any hope of succeeding."

Trisha snorted behind them. "After everything we've put up with? You'd better believe it."

Franz smiled at Sara. "Our daughter still sounds just like you."

"What can I say? I trained her well." Sara stepped back as Trisha joined them, getting a fatherly hug from Franz, and returning it with as much relief as Sara felt at seeing him still whole and healthy. "I know we were gone a little longer than expected, but using the plane to move quickly from town to town and shuttle various mayors and other leaders to meeting locations was invaluable. It helped convince everyone we could do this."

"Well, Mom did a lot of that," Trisha grinned as they walked to the car. "Seems she's something of a legend in the prison system, even though a lot of them didn't really know who she was."

"A legend?" Franz eyed her curiously.

Sara shrugged. "I told you, I made a _lot_ of breakout attempts that were not entirely unsuccessful before they resorted to blocking my alchemy and breaking my body to keep me in line. On the mass attempts, there were plenty of other people who got away who were not high-profile targets. Me…they always wanted me."

"And that made them _trust_ you?"

"You have to understand Drachmans." That was something Sara had learned to do very well; especially these Drachmans. "They're impressed with tenacity, inventiveness, and just being difficult to break. _They_ know most of their prisoners are bureaucrats, embezzlers, and petty thieves. The few ex-military they get within their walls are usually old, broken, retired, or resigned to the fact that walking out of towns that remote without getting caught is generally foolhardy. I didn't know any better, and if I had, I'd probably have kept trying anyway. The fact that I didn't use alchemy to destroy them on the spot convinced them that I might actually have their interests in mind."

Franz still looked puzzled as they got into the car, and he pulled away from the complex. "You'd have been hard pressed to destroy them on the spot with your specialty, wouldn't you?"

Sara exchanged looks with Trisha, and decided not to tell Franz about the more aggressive uses for their style of alchemy she and Trisha had been discussing for the past few weeks. Instead, she nodded, because given her usual methods, it was quite true. "Yes, but they didn't know that."

That got a round of chuckles from everyone in the car. As they drove back into town, Sara filled Franz in on everything that had been accomplished that couldn't be reported back via radio. She had copious amounts of written notes to be typed up into a report, but those could wait. What mattered was that all of the larger towns, and the leadership of the prisons, had agreed to the plan. Some with incredible skepticism, but Gavril, Niki, and Mina had done a great job of convincing them that the West had a change at succeeding, and a tactical and economic advantage. Sara and Trisha had done their best to be backup support only, and further demonstration of the other nations' refusal to acknowledge Savahin's regime as a legitimate and acceptable government while it was hurting its own citizens.

"So it's a done deal then," Franz said as they turned into Trisha's neighborhood. They would all need to be at Headquarters in a couple of hours, but there was nothing more important than family, and Sara knew Roy and the kids would be thrilled to have her home.

Sara nodded. "I actually have a signed copy of the official document with me, as evidence. Gavril said he wanted it disseminated as widely and publicly on an international scale as possible as soon as they make their official declaration through public broadcast channels in Drachma."

"And when are they making that declaration?"

"Tonight."

* * *

The group around the table of Franz's private meeting room was much more selective than the full summit hearings, but that was on purpose. It wasn't possible to fit everyone in the room, and it was the only room that had a television already tuned in to the signals that came out of Drachman carrying television signals.  
Only the most direct representatives who knew about the currently very secret plan, and a handful of other carefully selected members of the Drachman military were present.

Trisha sat between Roy, and her cousin Minxia and Thrakos, down near one end of the table. Across from them was Minxia's uncle Mao and aunt Jiu. The Aerugeans and Kartosians were further down the table, and at the head sat her parents, the former Drachman Ambassador, Lita Chalmers—who had been the Amestrian ambassador's assistant to Drachma—and then Whitewater, Shock, and her cousin Ted, who was sitting beside the only remaining civilian Drachman of any importance to this mission; Anika. Even sitting, Ted looked like he was hovering over his wife, which was understandable, since she was due any day. Not that she looked focused on anything other than the television. While she hadn't been here, Trisha had already heard from Roy and her father that Anika had been very informative and useful to intelligence in understanding and keeping in contact with the various elements of the Drachman resistance. Her instincts in predicting what might happen next had proved to be good as well. Trisha privately thought it was a shame the woman intended to stick to her career path as a zoologist.

Still, whatever else had happened since she left, a lot of the tension that had been in Ted before was gone.

 _Whitewater_ on the other hand, looked terrible. Or at least, strained. Trisha only knew why because Roy had filled her in on that too. It had been a very informative day over breakfast, lunch, and at down moments in the office.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the volume being turned up on the television. Before they'd left Gavril had assured them that their people would be able to hack in and hijack a fairly major Drachman signal. They had also been given a precise time. If all went well, everything was about to change for the Drachman resistance in a dramatic way.

In intelligence, Trisha knew they had another television, hooked up to recording equipment, so they would be able to disseminate and re-play the recording as much as needed. Amestrian news was going to have a field day with it once it got into their hands. If only they knew it was coming.

The news report coming through right now was clearly out of Petrayevka, in a traditional news station, but that wouldn't last long.

Lita would be translating for anyone in the room who did not speak Drachman. Trisha appreciated that, even though her own grasp of the language was passable, and recently refreshed, having someone more fluent in both languages would make it much faster.

Without warning, the signal fritzed. Trisha glanced at her watch. It was within a minute of the scheduled time. Pretty good, considering.

Within moments, it became clear again, only now, Gavril Mihalov, looking businesslike and clean, and very much alive, stood in front of the camera, with the Mayor Ashkov on one side, and Niki Marskaya on the other. The background behind them was a wall covered by a flag that Trisha was familiar with, only because she had seen them hang it; a modification of the Drachman flag, in the same colors, but with a dramatic mountain range carved out of the bottom of the stripes, for the mountain ranges they held.

:Good evening, Drachma,: Gavril spoke out clearly, looking serious, but calm. :It is my distinct honor to address you again, after my recent absence. You have been told many things in recent weeks, and I wish to set some records straight. The first is this. I, Gavril Mihalov, and definitely not dead. The Zinovek government _has_ taken Karmatsk, and killed many, but they failed in their goal to quiet the dissent of the people. I was rescued by several brave members of the resistance movement who still wish to bring peace and security to the people of Drachma. We are not done, and no Drachman should live in fear of the government whose sole purpose is to protect them and lead with fairness and justice. None of these things have been done since Valhov and the Zinovek party murdered dozens of duly elected members of the Drachman government months ago, or since then, as they have suppressed any opposition not with negotiations, but with senseless and unnecessary violence. To those of you living under the crushing boulder, I say this: you can still be free. I am here today, in support of that freedom and to make an announcement. By the unanimous agreement of the leadership of the towns and cities of the Western regions, Western Drachma hereby declares itself independent, no longer under the command of the Petrayevkan government, and free to pursue its own goals, laws, and trade agreements as it sees fit. This new nation has declared their border to be from the foothills of the Carpatian mountain range south, to where that line hits the Amestrian border, taking all of the mountain provinces, and the south-western farm valley with it. Any attempt on the part of the Zinovek government to provoke violence across that line will be considered an act of war. As of this time, all access to the mines and production facilities of the West, are closed to the Drachman government. Get your metals somewhere else.:

The last was a sharp, punctuated statement that caused Drachmans off-screen to cheer. Gavril remained quiet until they stopped. "I wish to make it clear that I do not intend to lead this new country. I am here to advise the people of this region to whom that control rightfully belongs, and support them. Also to say that this is not over. There is still fight left in the Drachman people. The resistance will continue until your rights are restored and peace returns and a proper government is reestablished. Valhov and his followers may have once had noble causes at heart, but their meanings were twisted, and their actions fatal to the Drachman way of life. What governs you now, is not Drachman. Do not let it become so. Thank you.: Then he bowed his head, and the signal cut off again.

Lita finished the last few words of translation, and the room fell silent for a moment.

It was Tore Closson who spoke first, letting out a long, low whistle. "Well, that's one way to smack a rabid dog."

Trisha's father smiled ever so slightly. "Indeed. Let's see if he responds in typical fashion."

 **October 7** **th** **, 1990**

No matter the larger events going on in the world, sometimes life stopped for nothing. It was a dark, slate, rainy Saturday afternoon when Anika went into labor as she and Ted worked on getting more things put away and arranged in their new house. It hadn't taken long for them to find one they liked, thankfully, in a neighborhood not too far over from Ethan and Lia's house, that was nice, but the houses were a little smaller. Still, it was a simple, elegant, two-story with a nice yard with large trees and a high wooden fence, that would be perfect for children and pets.

Despite the incredibly short notice on their marriage, Anika had been touched and surprised by the outpouring of good will and gifts that had come from Ted's family and extended friends of the family. Not everything was _new,_ but it was all well taken care of, and incredibly nice. She particularly appreciated that none of it looked like it had come out of an old Drachman palace. As much as she loved her family's ancestral home, antiques one was not supposed to touch except on special occasions did not make for comfortable places to sit around the house.

So they had a big, comfortable couch, and a padded rocking chair, and end tables, as well as a small cabinet that held a television in the living room, and all of the basics one might need for a functional kitchen, including a full set of dishes, flatware, pots and pans, good sharp knives, a tea kettle, mugs, and a variety of useful kitchen appliances. Someone had even pulled a lovely old dining table and matching set of chairs out of storage that looked like they had definitely come out of a well-appointed home. Ted had told her that it came from Tore and Charisa, and had been the primary dining room furniture of Charisa's parents, Heymans and Nancy Breda, during his time as President of the Military.

The bed in their bedroom was new, with a large quality mattress that her body had been immediately grateful for; with good linens and supportive pillows. There wasn't much more in the bedroom yet; a good dresser, and a full-length stand mirror that stood in the corner that she flatly ignored except to make sure clothing was laying properly. The bathroom was well appointed too, with fluffy towels and they had gone and purchased anything they needed for which they had a personal preference.  
There were rooms that were still empty, or mostly so. The downstairs had a room that could be a study or library that currently just held the few boxes Ted had brought over from his old quarters that hadn't been unpacked yet. Upstairs was another empty room that they hadn't decided what to do with yet, though keeping it available for possible future children was something Anika had considered. Not that she wanted four—or six!—but she couldn't imagine their son not having at least one brother or sister to play with someday.

The last one, the room closest to theirs in the upstairs hallway, was their baby's room, and that was where Anika found herself on that rainy afternoon, sorting out baby clothes into drawers while Ted assembled the brand-new crib his mother had insisted on paying for because, as she put it, there wasn't one in their family that was available that hadn't been used and worn beyond usefulness.

Given the size of the family, Anika could believe that, and she had simply accepted everything Ted's family offered with gracious and sincere gratitude. In barely a month, they had gone from sleeping in the Embassy to their own home, and a car to help them get where they needed to go every day. Not that Anika objected to public transportation; she'd always taken busses or walked to work in Petrayevka, but she hadn't lived in a suburb, and she hadn't had a little one to worry about. The car was used, but it was in excellent shape.

Perhaps the most breath-taking (and expensive) gift had come from Ted's brother Ian, who had somewhere managed to lay his hands on a very limited-edition print of one of the famous Drachman mountain landscape paintings of Michel Rachamov, the internationally famous classical landscape painter. The original hung in the Imperial Treasures National Museum of Drachman Art. Anika had no idea where or how Ian had acquired a print, but they were extremely rare and expensive. Not outside of say, her parents' price range, but it was not something someone picked up in a department store.

It was the only artwork hanging in the house currently, in the place of honor over the light-colored brick of the fireplace, as the center of the living room, and viewable from both the kitchen and dining room thanks to the open design of the space.

Ted's mother had insisted on staying the month in Central, to be there when the baby arrived. His father, being the mayor of Resembool, hadn't been able to stay nearly so long, though he had promised to be back as soon as he could finish handling some business. Thankfully, his mother had the good sense to stay with other family. Anika liked her, but she appreciated the privacy more.

Between everyone, they had nearly everything they needed in a surprisingly short amount of time, and it was just a matter of putting it all away.

Which was how she came to be sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor of her son-to-be's new bedroom, sorting tiny socks, when she felt the twinge of another contraction—they had been coming and going for three days—followed by a distinctly different sensation.

Ted finished using the screw driver on the last part of the crib, then gave it a satisfied pat. "All done! Nothing's moving this thing." He turned, smiling, then took a good long look at her. "You all right?"

Anika nodded very slowly. "Yes. I… I think that was water…" That was definitely the sensation. "Help me up?"

Ted was by her side in an instant, offering an arm, and helping her get to her feet. He looked a little wide-eyed, but she'd expected that. She was feeling a little startled herself, even having been waiting for this moment for months. Once she was steadily on her feet, she waited. To his credit, when she didn't speak, Ted just waited as well, and she had a feeling he was doing the same thing she was… counting time.

Barely four minutes later another contraction rippled through her stomach, and the baby shifted. "Four minutes."

"Want me to get your bag?"

Anika nodded. The doctors here had seen no reason for concern in their most recent appointments, but she would rather not be rushing to the hospital, particularly in the rain that was sheeting down outside. "Please, and my raincoat. The weather looks unpleasant."

Ted kissed her cheek. "Don't worry. We've got this."

* * *

Six hours later, Ted was certain he did _not_ have this. It was just after eight in the evening, and he was certain he was being held together by sheer nerve and coffee. The drive over had been slow due to standing water on the roads, and his determination that arriving safely was most important, and sliding off the road or getting in an accident would slow them down as much as it might hurt someone. Still, safe had brought them in to the hospital with contractions down to three minutes apart, and Ted had expected that things would continue to move at that pace.

Except, they hadn't quite. Despite everything they had read and been told since arriving home, in trying to prepare for the birth of their son, there were things he had still not been prepared for; like the fact that things could slow down again, which they had for several hours after they arrived and got into a room. Progress was still being made, just slowly.

Which meant there was very little he could do to be useful. Or at least, he didn't feel useful. Sure, he could hold her hand, or rub her back when she got up and walked, or make sure she had water, but Anika was doing all the hard work. He was increasingly impressed with how calm she was over the whole thing. Not that he had expected panic, but he had heard so many stories about how labor could go. Everyone handled stress differently, and Anika seemed to be taking this like she did everything else, with calm focus, despite the obvious discomfort.

"You should really go get some dinner," Anika suggested as he helped her sit down again after a period of pacing. "No reason both of us should be starving."

"I don't know. What if something happens while I'm gone?"

Anika gave him a rueful smile. "The nurse said we still had hours. I think you can go down to the cafeteria and back in less time than that. Besides, they'll send someone for you."

Also true, and Ted could not deny that he was starving. "I'll be back soon," he promised, giving her hand a squeeze before reluctantly letting go.

"And I'll be here until you get back."

He turned to see his mother standing in the doorway. "Thanks, Mom." He didn't know who had given her a ride over, but Ted was glad to see her. They hugged briefly, and then she shooed him out the door.

Ted had every intention of getting down and back as fast as possible. If there was something they'd let him just bring back to the room, he would.

He hadn't counted on Ian standing in the waiting room.

"You're Mom's ride?" Ted asked.

Ian grinned. "No, I just like hanging out in maternity wards for fun."

Ted rolled his eyes. "Well, you'll be here in a few months. Might as well get comfortable."

"I think I'll wait before putting down roots thanks." Ian snickered. "I figured if I waited a bit I'd see you. How's Anika?"

"You want the technical answer or the socially acceptable one?"

"I'll take whichever one tells me she's probably in pain but doing okay and it's just going to take time but at least there aren't any complications or you wouldn't be standing out here with me."

"Then why did you even ask?"

"Brotherly concern?" Ian shrugged. "I'd also bet she kicked you out to find food. Want me to join you in the cafeteria?"

"Sure, if you don't need to be anywhere." Ted agreed. He could use the company, and he had spent next to no time with his brother since getting back, or most of his family really outside of his parents. As soon as he had been cleared of any charges of crimes to the country, his uncle had made sure he was put right back to work. Other than being involved in reporting on activities in Drachma, his primary form of punishment seemed to be endless boring paperwork tasks set him by Shock. Ted had a feeling the reports in the filing cabinets had never been so well organized and cross-referenced.

"I won't be missed at home for a while," Ian assured him as they both started walking towards the elevator. "Bonnie's in the middle of a new design project. I might as well not exist when she's in the groove."

"Your fans would never believe it."

"Well, it is pretty humbling, but it does keep things in perspective to know that no matter how successful I am, I am not more important than finding the exact right shade of aquamarine in pure linen."

Ted managed not to snort. They reached the elevator, and rode down to the first floor. "I get that. It's kind of like knowing I'm never going to be more important than a tiger."

"Though I have to say, your wife hand raising a baby tiger is kind of a whole different level than costume design."

"Maybe in levels of weird but awesome," Ted nodded. "Myrda's a pretty awesome tiger, so I don't really mind." He looked around the cafeteria, which was fairly empty this late, and walked up to the line to see what was still available. At this hour, it was mostly pre-packaged items available for purchase, but he didn't mind. He grabbed a roast beef sandwich and a cola, and a large cup of coffee, and paid for them. Ian got coffee, and they picked a random table and sat down. "I should see if we can introduce you to Myrda sometime. I mean, not in her cage, but she's incredibly friendly."

"You know when you talk like that, you make having a tiger in the family sound incredibly normal," Ian commented with amusement.

Ted shrugged, and dug into the sandwich. "After most of this past year, that's sort of the most normal thing _in_ my life. First we were pulling people out of Drachma, then I was fighting with the Resistance in Drachma, and in less than two months we went from living in a hole in a mountain to being in Central, with a new house full of new stuff; well new to me. Ten months ago I was single and lonely, and now I'm married to a Drachman zoologist and we're about to be parents."

"You never did do anything half-way." Ian stirred cream into his coffee. "But I'm glad you're back, safe, and from what I've gotten to see so far, Anika's a great person, so I'm happy for you."

Ted smiled, though he had to finish the food in his mouth before responding. "I figured as much. No one spends that much on a painting for someone they don't like."

Ian chuckled. "There is that. It was a really fortunate find, honestly. We don't go to a lot of gallery shows, but Bonnie was looking for inspiration and we ended up wandering through prints of Drachman paintings and well… there it was."

"It's the nicest thing in the house," Ted admitted. "So, thanks, again. Seriously. I mean, everything is great, but it's been happening so fast being in the house feels a little like I'm living in someone else's space. We haven't really had time to stop running long enough to settle in and make it ours."

"Well, if there's anything you want done around the house, let me know," Ian offered. "I'm sure I can wrangle a few friends, and between the crew, we can probably get anything you and Anika want done."

"Wow. I… thanks." Now that was an offer. "That would be a huge help. The house is in great shape, but we've already got a list of things that would make it feel more…us." It had been an eye-opening month really, discussing what they wanted to do with their new shared space. Home-décor had never really been on their list of priorities to discuss before they had gone house hunting.

"Send it my way and we'll see what we can do," Ian promised. "It's not like you don't have enough on your plates right now."

"If you're sure. I mean, you're not exactly swimming in free time."

Ian chuckled. "Maybe not, but we don't have nearly as much to do as you do, and we've got plenty of time. Besides which, have you _ever_ talked to Bonnie for five minutes? She's so organized the kid's room is already planned and half-done."

Ted nodded. It was true. Despite what appeared to be chaos in Bonnie's workroom at their house, it was clearly organized chaos. She could tell you every project and what each piece went to, even if it just looked like a crazy pile of pins and scraps of fabric to the untrained eye… like his. "Then I accept, and I'm sure Anika will appreciate it." He looked down at his plate, and realized he had already finished the sandwich, soda, and most of his coffee. "I should get back."

Ian stood as he did. "Just have Mom call me when she wants a ride back. I'll make sure she gets home."

Another thing Ted hadn't even thought about figuring out. "Thanks. Hopefully that call won't be at four in the morning."

Ian shrugged. "If it is, that's okay. I'm used to weird scheduling, and the way Bonnie sleeps right now, you wouldn't wake her up if you came to the front door with frying pans."

Now there was a mental image. Ted smiled as they walked back towards the doors. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You know that wasn't an invitation."

"Yeah, I know."

* * *

The coffee had long ago worn off, but Ted didn't care. His entire world had narrowed, lying there in a hospital bed. Everything outside might not as well exist, at least for a little while, because everything had been irrevocably changed.

Cradled in his mother's arms, swaddled in a soft green blanket, slept the most incredible little boy Ted had ever seen. Of course, he'd seen a lot of babies just from visiting his brothers, and many of them even had soft downy blond hair, but this one was different, because this one was _his_ son; a fact that both delighted and awed him.

"You are amazing." He gave Anika a gentle squeeze with the arm he had draped around behind her shoulders as he perched on the edge of the bed. " _He's_ amazing."

"Nice to know we agree." Anika replied with a tired smile. "He _is_ incredible. I've never loved anyone as much as I do right now."

"Not even me?" Ted teased. He knew exactly how she meant.

"You come in a close second… tied with Myrda."

Ted chuckled, and kissed her head where he could reach. "Well I feel the same about the two of you."

A quiet knock on the door was almost immediately followed by it creaking open, and his mother's eager face appearing. "Can I come in?" she asked. "The nurses said visitors would be all right now."

"Of course," Anika beat Ted to speaking. "Come meet Nikolai."

Ted's mother closed the door behind her and crossed the room. "He's beautiful," she replied, beaming. It didn't seem to matter how many grandchildren she had, Ted had never seen his mother not get a little emotional about them. "Nikolai is a lovely name. Isn't it also your brother's?"

Anika nodded. "That is Niki's full name, but it's a family name going back generations, and it has lots of traditional nicknames, like Niko, and Kole, so there's usually not a lot of confusion."

"What does it mean?"

"Victory." Ted answered his mother's question. "With everything that's happened this year, it seemed fitting."

"I like it." His mother nodded. "Not that my opinion really matters."

"That doesn't mean we don't value it," Ted pointed out. "Though it's good, because we didn't really have a second boy's name." Not every name sounded good with _Elric_ and it had taken them a lot of time to settle on one they both really liked, even though in the end it seemed like an obvious choice.

His mother's smile said without words what he himself had thought; if they had any more boys, they were going to need to agree on more names. For now, he was glad she didn't say it, because having one child's life to be responsible for was more than enough at this moment.

Instead she stood beside them, marveling and cooing over the baby, as if she did not already have twelve other grandchildren, including Urey's newest that she hadn't even gotten to meet. Ted felt only mildly guilty at having stolen his mother away, but this was _his_ first.

 _Don't worry little guy. We're going to fix everything going on in Drachma, and someday you'll get to know and love it, too._ If it was within Ted's power to do so, he'd make sure Anika got to share the joy of their child with her family as well. His son deserved the full benefits of both sides of his heritage.


	54. Chapter 54

**October 8** **th** **, 1990**

Today should be a happy day. Abigail had learned to ride her little bicycle without the training wheels, and she had happily demonstrated that she could count to twenty, and that she could read the book she had been practicing with her grandmother, and she wasn't quite four yet.

Cameron had done a drawing of a puppy that actually looked like a puppy, or at least recognizably like a canine with a drooling tongue, floppy ears, and a wagging tail. He was picking up more words daily, and babbling up a storm, and he would be two next month.

Summer had finally turned one. She was walking, and starting to pick up words, and completely weaned.

Today _should_ be a happy day, but Charlie wasn't here.

He didn't see the things their children were learning, or how they were growing.

He hadn't sent a single word, or called, or come home in thirty-four days.

Not a note. Not a cent. No news, no word…no sign that he was safe, or even alive.

He wasn't here to answer Abigail's questions. Where was her daddy?

He wasn't here to calm tears.

He wasn't here, and it was no longer a private matter.

After a week, she'd had to tell her instructors, and his physical therapist, and her job. It was too hard to do everything as she had before, and they noticed. They were sympathetic, and kind, which almost made it worse.

Shelby didn't want to hate him. She didn't want to think that he had meant anything other than what his letter said. He felt like a burden, he wanted to contribute, he needed to think. He hadn't blamed her.

But was she to blame? She didn't want to hate him, but she didn't want to hate herself, to wonder with persistent doubts if she had done everything she could, or if there was something he had needed that she simply hadn't given him. Or if it had always been that way.

He'd always said he loved her, but whenever things got rough… he ran away; to the bar, to lovers… and now just…away.

She wanted him home, even if it meant that talking things out proved things she would rather not consider. What was wrong? What could they do together to fix it? Was he unhappy with _her_?

She didn't want to hate him, but at night, alone in the dark, it was sometimes almost too easy. She wanted to cry, and rant, and beg, and demand, and _know…_

…but Charlie wasn't here.

He was gone, and no one had figured out where he went. They didn't know.

And he didn't know, because he wasn't here, about his fourth child… the unborn one… the one conceived in a night of passion that she had thought meant a rekindling of what was lost, that he was starting to recover from the shock and horror he'd experienced in Drachma, and losing his hand, and the pain of recovery.

If this was goodbye, it wasn't a gift. It was a nightmare.

It was a terrible time to be pregnant, with the future so uncertain, but she'd keep it, and she'd love it. It wasn't this new child's fault its father had disappeared.

If Charlie knew, would he come home? Shelby could not imagine it would make much difference. He'd left her to take care of all three children on her own. Intentions be damned.

It didn't help that her father's reaction had been a tirade of how much he had told them all so, and what a lousy person Charlie had always been, and how he'd known it would all come to ruin. Her mother had been kinder, but she had always felt something was off, even though Shelby had never told her parents about Charlie's transgressions when they lived up by Briggs. Sometimes Shelby wondered if her mother had figured it out on her own, or at least suspected.

Today should be a happy day, but all she could do was cry inside.

 **October 14** **th** **, 1990**

It was amazing how adding one small, squirming new member of the family could make what had been a new house, feel almost at once like home. In the few days since coming home from the hospital, Anika had become even fonder of the space she and Ted had chosen to be _their_ home.

She had also fallen head-over-heels in love with the most adorable little boy in the whole world.

Despite months to prepare for the reality of becoming a mother, Anika hadn't given a lot of thought as to how that would feel. Her focus had been on just being somewhere safe, where she could meet its basic needs. For the first couple of months, that had included ways of supporting a baby as a single mother, presuming they all survived the coup. Then Ted had arrived, and when it was clear that he had no intention of leaving her behind again, ever, unless she made him, that plan had become _their_ plan.

Anika had never really been a _baby person._ She had watched her brother's kids before, and she liked them okay, but she had never really been the type to coo and gush over children, or dream of parenthood.

Yet Nikolai was singularly the most amazing little person she had ever met. Even at just a few days old, he had a distinct personality, the same personality he had exhibited inside her. He preferred to curl up, rather than stretch out. He was incredibly squirmy when he was hungry. He also had an incredibly loud cry which, in the middle of the night, was impossible to sleep through.

Thankfully, there were two parents, and only one baby. They also had lots of Ted's family around to help take care of basic needs, so they could focus on getting used to being parents, and bonding with their baby. Still, Ted had thrown himself at this the same way he seemed to do everything, and Anika was grateful that—so far—he hadn't complained once about doing a lot of the diaper changing, or walking and burping after she had fed Nikolai. It meant they both got _some_ sleep and, as he insisted, she needed it more.

Given how tired she was, even a week later, Anika was not inclined to disagree. If it weren't for Ted, and the help they got from his family, she knew she would have been much more frazzled. So far, neither she nor Ted had needed to do more to cook than pop something pre-prepped out of the refrigerator and into the oven. Everything his family had brought to fill their refrigerator and freezer was delicious, no matter who had prepared it. Each item was labelled with the name of the person who had prepared it, the date, and the ingredients and what it was. Perhaps the most thoughtful part, was they had included the recipes and instructions, should Anika and Ted decide they wanted to make whatever it was again in the future.

It was early in the afternoon, and she had just slipped a large casserole dish full of a Cretan pasta-sausage-and-veggie casserole into the oven, and put on the kettle to heat up tea, when the doorbell rang.

Since Ted was upstairs changing and burping Nikolai, she went to the door. With people coming in-and-out regularly the past few days, she suspected it was either Cassie again, or some relative or other.

Anika was not prepared for whom she saw standing on the other side of the door. While she had never met the people standing on her porch, but she would have been completely ignorant not to recognize Ted's grandparents. Outside of historical documents, the only pictures she had ever seen of them were in family pictures, but in the past couple of months she had seen tons of those, which made all four of the people standing in front of her living legends.

Apparently at least some of her surprise had registered on her face, because Winry smiled at her in a way that said she had a good idea of what Anika might be feeling. "Good afternoon, Anika," she said as she held out her hand. "We're Ted's grandparents, and this is his great-uncle and aunt. I hope you don't mind us stopping by. Cassie didn't think you'd mind, and we just arrived in town."

It gave her just enough time to regain composure and remember that this was _her_ house. Anika took Winry's hand and shook it. "I recognized you," she admitted, smiling back. "Your family keeps a lot of photographs."

Edward—she could totally see in person why her husband was named after the man—chuckled. "We do, don't we? It's a pleasure to meet you."

"It's an honor," Anika admitted, taking his hand next, and trying not to feel flustered. It was silly, really. She had grown up with a house full of dignitaries and nobility and ranking military officers coming in and out of her family's home. Somehow though, this was different. Edward and Alphonse in particular, featured several times in stories out of Drachman history, dating back to years pre-dating her father. They had to be at least ninety-years-old, but there was such life in those eyes, and in that expression. If she hadn't known better she wouldn't have guessed any of them were as old as she knew they had to be. Not that they looked _young,_ but to her, they could have been in their seventies, and the youngest perhaps her early sixties. "Please, come in. I just put on water for tea. Ted's upstairs with the baby, but he'll be down in a minute."

She stepped back, welcoming them into her home, and Anika was relived and pleased to find them very amenable houseguests. They made several sincere compliments about the house, noticing several of the features that had made her and Ted like it in the first place, and much to her surprise and pleasure, they all recognized the painting above the fireplace.

"We saw the original during a diplomatic visit to Petrayevka, many years ago," Edward told her. "I'm a big fan of his work, actually, not that I've ever been able to get my hands on a piece, not even a print. They're incredibly hard to come by in Amestris."

"So I gathered from what Ian and Bonnie told me, sir," Anika admitted. "You might ask Ian."

"I will. Little scamp's been holding on out me." Though the lack of malice in his voice, and the twinkle in his eyes told her Edward was teasing. "And please, skip the sir. I've been retired for decades, and you're part of the family. Edward is fine, and you'll find that goes for the rest of us; the lack of formality I mean."

"All right, then." They had accepted her so easily, just like the rest had, and after knowing her for only a couple of minutes. Of course, they had probably heard lots from other members of the family.

Just then the tea kettle started whistling, and she headed into the kitchen.

"Can I help?" Winry offered.

"Sure. The cups are there," Anika pointed towards the cabinet, then went to the pantry and pulled out the tea. Among the wide variety of surprises she was still finding had been the gift of several excellent teas from Xing from that side of the family.

Anika had stopped being surprised by how well they had been set up days ago, but she still appreciated and admired both the Xingese tea set, and the larger set of mugs they had been given.

Ted's grandmother admired both as she pulled them out and set out cups for six. "These are lovely," she commented, echoing Anika's thoughts.

"They are," she agreed. "Ted assured me family would help out, but I had no idea what to expect. Even though he tells me a lot of this is hand-me-downs, it looks new, and none of it looks inexpensive."

"We _do_ like to hold on to things," Winry admitted with a chuckle. "And we have collected a wide variety of household objects over the years. They should always be used by people who will appreciate them. I hope they're to your tastes. If not, don't feel bad about replacing them over time and passing them on to someone else who needs them."  
A practical philosophy, but one that Anika's own family had always followed as well. Why have all that furniture that was hundreds of years old if they weren't going to use it, after all? And they kept it all in good repair. "Thank you. I appreciate knowing that," Anika replied. "Though I have to admit, I was surprised at how well most of it is already to my tastes, even the colors. I would have been happy with anything that was functional." Ted had expressed no particular décor concerns other than nothing be in blood red, pink, or covered in lace. As Anika also thought all three of those things would be terrible in a house, that had been easy to agree to.

They poured tea into all five cups as they talked, and she let Winry handle cream and-or sugar for everyone except Anika and Ted. "Which brings me to my question, really," Winry smiled, "Which is that _we_ haven't had the opportunity to give you a wedding or baby gift. I thought that with so many people bringing you things it would be best to wait and see if there was anything you needed, or particularly _wanted_ , instead of making assumptions."

What an incredibly thoughtful and generous sentiment. Not that any of the gifts they had received had been anything but thoughtful and generous, but there were times it was nice to be asked, to have a sense that she had a little more control over _something_ in her life.

"There are a couple of things I've been missing," Anika admitted. "They're not _big_ things."

"What are they?"

"There are a couple of spices I haven't seen in a grocers. I did not think of them as uncommon, but apparently they don't grow native to Amestris, and there hasn't been time to look in specialty shops." It really seemed a very small thing, and she hoped they wouldn't mind it wasn't larger. "The other, is a quilt that my great-grandmother made, that was passed down from her, to my grandmother, to my mother, to me. Since they attacked the estate, I don't even know if it still exists, and I could hardly ask anyone to go looking for it. But it was on my bed from the time I was small, and it was incredibly beautiful. I haven't seen one in that pattern in a long time, but my father said it used to be very traditional."

"What did it look like?"

For only a moment, Anika hesitated, but it was clear that Winry's interest was genuine, so she described it, in detail, the pattern of the pieces, the colors, even the details of prints she could remember and the order they had been in, and the pattern in the quilting that overlaid it all.

It was only as she finished, and looked up from the tea she had been adding sugar to, that she realized Winry had whipped paper and a pencil out of who-knew-where, and was sketching. "Was it something like this?" she asked, holding up what proved to be a drawing of a quilt pattern piece, and copious notes.

Anika blinked. The quilt piece square she had sketched looked exactly like the design her grandmother had used. Obviously, this sketch was black-and-white, and without the specific fabrics, but it was definitely the right pattern. "That's incredible. Have you seen one before?"

"It's possible, though I couldn't tell you where," Winry smiled. "Your description was very specific. Elicia quilts, and I help her sometimes. It's something her mother taught us a long time ago. I wouldn't presume to try and _replace_ a priceless family heirloom… but if you said this was a very traditional Drachman pattern, we could probably create a similar one. Then, if you ever are able to get yours back, you'd have two. It would take some time of course…"

Anika wondered if Winry understood the immensity of the offer she had just made. It was truly touching. "I would like that very much," she acknowledged. "Thank you."  
It only took another couple of minutes to finish preparing tea and, while they were thinking about it, little snacking sandwiches. Not that Anika had to do more than agree they sounded like a good idea before Winry volunteered to do all the work herself.

"So, you're working at the zoo," she commented as they plated their snack.

Anika nodded. "I am. Though it will be a few weeks until I go back, of course. My friends promised to take care of Myrda for me."

"She's your tiger."

"That's right. She was rescued in the wilderness as an orphan and brought to the zoo. I raised her myself." Anika was rather proud of how beautiful her tiger had turned out, even though she could never return to the wild. "Once they finish integrating our animals with the existing ones, she will be available for everyone to see her." Of course, she would probably be back at her other work sooner, given they kept calling her in for briefings and information at Headquarters. Well, they could just handle her carrying her infant if they needed her that badly.

Winry was smiling. "When we get in there you definitely need to talk to Alphonse about his tiger."

Anika managed not to drop the tray of sandwiches in her surprise, if just barely. " _Alphonse_ has a tiger?"

"He rescued one from an alchemist's lab on a mission years ago, and brought it here to Amestris. She lived out the rest of her life here at the zoo. Alphonse used to go visit her every week."

So not only was Alphonse Elric a cat lover, he was a _big_ cat lover as well. "I will definitely do that."

 **October 21, 1990**

The weather was precisely what Gloria had envisioned for her wedding day when she and Alexei had finally set the date and location. Outside the venue, the lake reflected the blue sky with a glass-smooth sheen, and the trees in the mountains around them were a riot of vibrant autumn hues. The reds dripped like blood, the oranges burned in fiery glory, the yellows were bright like golden apples, and even the remaining greens seemed particularly crisp.

The Skyview Resort was everything their advertising claimed, and Gloria was certain even her mother could find no fault in the place. The huge windows along the wall of the dining room looked out over the lake in question, and there was room for both the tables for eating, and a wide open area for dancing. The ceremony itself would take place out on a large whitewashed decked terrace with an artistic white gazebo.

Most of her family and friends—more than expected really, thanks to the meetings in Central that she wasn't really supposed to know about, but knew must be going on to pull Minxia and Thrakos _and_ her Aunt's brother and sister from Xing into Central at the same time that long _before_ her wedding. Still, even her cousins Michio and Kamika had come back from Xing for the wedding.

She understood why, given the situation, some of her family members on Great Uncle Edward's side were simply not going to be able to make it, but a lot of her extended cousins had anyway, and Edward and Winry had come with her grandparents. Mainly she was grateful her friends could be there, and that war hadn't broken out taking her father away. Gloria hadn't been sure if he would be able to get away with the political situation what it was at present, but he was there.

The only person missing who she had always thought would be here, was her brother. Part of Gloria had hoped, desperately, that even though he had vanished from the house, and he hadn't called anyone or sent word since, that he was all right somewhere and that he _might_ show up. Shelby was here, smiling through eyes that held little joy, with Gloria's nieces and nephew, who all looked adorable. Little Abigail was their flower girl. _I don't know where you are Charlie, but I hope you're alive._

Then she had to focus, and put the pain from her mind. Today was her wedding day, hers and Alexei's, and as she looked in the mirror in the dressing room, she hoped she looked at least a little bit like a princess out of a Drachman fairy tale. Her dress, strapless white silk cut like those of the Empresses in paintings, but with a modern, smoother line, that fit her bodice and then flared just above the hip out in a full skirt. Embroidered subtly all across the gown in a fall down the front and around as if blown by the wind, were delicate white leaves that looked as if frost itself had settled on the gown, subtle and shimmering. Her jewelry, simple silver highly polished necklace and earrings that dangled several inches, accentuating her neck, with tiny emeralds. On her head however, was the true glory; the little tiara trimmed in diamonds that had been a gift from Mrs. Gurina, and instead of a veil, it held in place down her head the sheer, delicate white shawl trimmed in the tiniest red, gold, and green beads. Her thick curls fell loose underneath it, artfully arranged around her shoulders. When she picked up her round bouquet—a small riot of red roses, orange-gold dahlias, and greenery, it seemed to bring it all together.

Behind her in the mirror, she could see her mother misty-eyed and beaming.

"What do you think?" Gloria asked, turning around to face her directly.

"In my incredibly biased opinion? I think you look perfect." They closed for a heartfelt, and very gentle hug, her mother carefully not squashing _anything._ "If Alexei can get words out of his mouth when he sees you, I'll be impressed."

"He had better be able to," Gloria chuckled. "He has to say his vows. Should I be less perfect?"

"Never." Her father's voice came from the doorway. "Besides, I'm sure it's impossible for you to be _less_ perfect." He came into the room, dressed in his suit, not a uniform this time, but a suit of incredibly dark grey with a subtle metallic sheen that made it look more like matte brushed silver. His cream-and-sage striped tie matched her mother's dress. "You look beautiful, sweetie."

"Thanks, Daddy." His hug was just as warm, and just as careful. "I'm so glad you're here. That you're both here." She was only too aware of how close she had come more than once to losing her father, and most recently, her mother. Her mother's survival from cancer, and her father not being off in a foreign country leading soldiers…both were things beyond Gloria's control, and she was grateful to still have them both.

It was clear they understood what she meant both in that sense, and the noted and painful absence of one quarter of their family. They hugged again, all three, and it was all Gloria could do not to tear up, but she managed. Then she took her father's arm.

"You look incredibly dashing," she told him.

"I had to at least try not to look shabby next to you," he chuckled, but he looked pleased, and proud. Gloria was grateful. It seemed that any concerns her father had about her marrying Alexei had been put to rest. "Now, let's go see if he can manage to talk enough to get those vows out when he gets a look at you."

* * *

All teasing aside, Alyse did not really expect her soon-to-be son-in-law to have any difficulty being articulate, though his expression of delight and anticipation when Gloria appeared was all someone might hope to see on the face of the person they loved most.

It was a near-perfect wedding. Abigail was adorable as she scattered flower petals. Gloria looked stunning, mature and elegant; Alexei handsome and smitten, though thankfully not tongue-tied. The ceremony itself was not long, and soon enough they were officially wed, and the celebration began.

Alyse was rather grateful that neither side of the family went in for long speeches. Aside from a handful of short ones over dinner while folks were eating, which were natural and pleased and came mostly from Cal, and Alexei's father, most of the festivities were given over quickly after to music and dancing, and after the few traditional starting dances were done, the formality ended, and it was truly just a joyous celebration.

Alyse stole Cal back from their daughter. "You owe me a dance, soldier," she smiled, pulling him onto the dance floor.

"No man is his right mind would ever turn down a request to dance from a beautiful woman," Cal chuckled, following along without resistance and bringing her in close into his arms. "Especially not if there's any possibility he might get lucky." He waggled an eyebrow, grinning mischievously.

Alyse laughed. "A handsome gentleman _might_ have a chance. If he's a good enough dancer."

"For you, I could dance all night."

For a few minutes, Alyse lost herself in the music, in the lights, in Cal's strong arms. She knew he was far more stressed out than he was acting, but that the very last thing he would ever do would be to let down his daughter on her wedding day. So even though they were all worried about Charlie, he was smiling, and beaming, and focused entirely on making sure Gloria had the most perfect day possible; and now, that _she_ did as well.

So, she leaned into him, and enjoyed the warm safety of his embrace, and thought of how nice it would be when he retired in the next few months, and was no longer disgruntled with his desk job, or in danger of being sent back into combat. Once he retired, they could travel more, and spend afternoons at the country club with Maes and Elena, and socialize, and dabble in whatever suited their fancy. And spend far more time with their family. All of them, all over the world.

Wherever they might be.

* * *

Elicia was certain she would never get tired of weddings. Especially not the ones that involved her family. Her granddaughter was radiant, and she thought Alexei was a perfect addition to the family. She had found him and Alphonse deeply lost in conversation earlier that day, before the ceremony, while Alexei was trying not to be _too_ nervous.

In these troubled, complicated times, it was good for everyone to have time to get away, to relax, and to enjoy and celebrate the things that mattered in life.

Not that everyone appeared to be having a wonderful time, though most of them were very convincingly hiding it. As much as Shelby was trying, Elicia could see a tightness in her eyes, pain hidden behind her smiles that slipped as soon as people turned away. In those moments, she was vulnerable, and a little pale. Even as she watched her children enjoying themselves. Or at least, Abigail, who was just big enough to "dance" with her great-grandpa Alphonse at the very edge of the dance floor. Cameron was perfectly happy to play in a corner with another toddler from Alexei's side who belonged to a cousin, and Summer had passed out in Shelby's arms, exhausted from so much stimulation and excitement. The table behind her held a mostly untouched plate.

Elicia sidled over and sat down in the next chair. "Would you like your hands back?" she offered.

Shelby smiled tiredly. "Maybe for a few minutes." Carefully she shifted Summer, and handed her over. The baby settled into Elicia's shoulder as snugly as she had been in her mother's, sighed, and relaxed.

Elicia smiled. She would never tire of holding little ones, and it gave Shelby a moment to actually eat the food that she had clearly not been able to get to, and breathe for a few minutes. Being the mother of three was definitely a handful. Doing it on her own, given the circumstances had to be trying, and emotionally exhausting. She watched her nibble at the plate of relatively simple offerings. "Are you all right, Shelby?" she finally asked, trying not to sound meddling.

Shelby gave a small shrug. "I'm tired," she admitted after a moment. "And worried. It seems like all I've done for a month and a half is worry; about my children, about the future…about Charlie."

"I promise, we're all worried about Charlie." She was not at all alone in that. Elicia worried about her grandson daily. "We'll find him, or he'll come home. But you know, you're family, and you have our support. Please, don't hesitate to ask for anything."

Shelby nodded. "Thank you, and I know that. My mother understands, but my father… I can't even go over there anymore without listening to him go off on a tirade about how Charlie's _abandoned_ us, and what a terrible person he is, and how my father was right that I should never have married him… and I can't take the kids over because I don't want them to hear it. Not that way. I know Cameron and Summer are too small to really understand, except that Cameron misses him, but Abby... she wants to know where her daddy is, and I can't tell her, and… I'm sorry," she cut off abruptly, wiping a tear away quickly with her hand. "This isn't the right place to talk about unpleasant things."

"Anytime you need to talk is the right time," Elicia replied with a small shake of her head. "And, forgive me for being pushy, but you look ill." It might just be the stress getting to her, but Shelby was going to be worse off than that, holding it together too long, too tight.

She waited as Shelby sat quietly in thought, still picking listlessly at the food, until finally… "I'm pregnant."

It was a good thing she was sitting, because that had _not_ been what she had been expecting in response. That, nor the crack of anguish in the younger woman's voice, and she understood; whether Charlie came back or not… if they were through or not… on top of everything else, she had a fourth one coming, and none of them over the age of four.

Elicia couldn't hide her surprise. "Does Charlie know?"

Shelby shook her head. "No. I only found out recently… after he disappeared. I've been trying to figure out how I'm supposed to do _everything… and_ take on another child and I feel like a terrible mother, because I can't even find it in me to be _happy_ about this child. It's like a nightmare… but I don't want to feel that way about it."

Elicia could feel her heart breaking for the other woman. Shelby wasn't weak, or even submissive, far from either, but she was having a lot tossed at her. It must be painfully overwhelming. "You know… in your position, I'd probably feel the same way."

Shelby looked at her, startled. "Really?"

"Absolutely. I can't imagine being happy about it in the current situation. The timing is unfortunate, and it's not anything you'd have chosen, or I would have chosen. You deserve so much better than this, and what's happened isn't fair and I hope you know that as much as I love my grandson, and as worried as I am for him, I don't approve of how he's treated you, and I'm frankly a little surprised you haven't divorced him. I wouldn't blame you either way there either, honestly. But that's your business, not mine. Just, please don't think we would think less of you for it, or for choosing to stay." Elicia hadn't quite meant to get right to it like that, or say quite so much, but it seemed to have been the right thing, because Shelby looked stunned, then slightly relieved.

"I'm not sure why that makes me feel a little better, but it does, thank you," Shelby said finally. "Part of me feels like it would be wisest to just… get over it and move on, but until I know if he's even _alive_ or where he is… I just don't feel like I can move in any direction. I just have to put that on hold, so I can keep doing everything else I need to do; take care of the kids, go to work, go to school. I can't let those things fall apart. If he never comes back, I'll need them more than ever. I know no one will leave me to do it alone, not really, because your family is wonderful, and my mother loves us too much, but I feel terrible for _needing_ the help. This was not where I pictured myself at this point in my life, and I was an idealistic idiot not to see it coming."

"There is nothing foolish about putting everything you have into making it work when you've made the commitment, when you love someone. The only foolish thing is continuing to do if or when it proves to be to your detriment. If you still have hope that you can work things out, then wait. Do what is right for you, and for your family. I wouldn't presume to do it for you. That said, if you need anything from me while you're getting things together and getting life in order, please ask."

"I will," Shelby promised with a small nod. "Though right now I'm not sure what I need that hasn't already been offered, except perhaps sanity."

Elicia couldn't help a small chuckle. "I'm not sure you'll find much of that around here."

* * *

Cal sipped his glass of champagne and watched as Gloria took yet another turn around the dance floor in Alexei's arms. The party had been going for hours, and while he felt he had put in a decent showing, most of the people he would not have called _youngsters_ had vacated the floor, leaving it to those with the energy to enjoy it.

At the moment that meant Gloria and Alexei, Dare and Lorraine, and many more of that twenties crowd. He had even seen his father-in-law talk Shelby out onto the dance floor for one number. Anyone who wasn't dancing was standing or sitting around, chatting over drinks and whatever last nibbles of cake might be on their plates.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves for the most part, even the members of his family who were hurting. Cal would smile through anything if it meant his family had a good day. Nothing should mar his daughter's wedding, and he didn't want her to ever look back on this day with sorrow or regret. Alyse either. Though he knew that wasn't entirely within his power, he could do his part.

So, he smiled, and laughed, and danced with his daughter, and with his wife, and even his daughter-in-law. He spoke eloquently during toasts, and welcomed Alexei as part of the family, even as Gloria was now part of theirs.

It was a relief to finally be relegated to background wall art for a bit, where he could sit, and sip, and watch without anyone feeling like they needed to come up and speak with him for the sake of polite conversation. He was just the father of the bride; he was just paying for the event. That was plenty in his mind.

Which did not keep him from being sought out in his quiet corner with his champagne, but at least the person who did was not someone he had to pretend around.

"Well, everything looks like it's gone smoothly," Tore commented as he joined him at the wall with his own glass, "And they look very happy," he gestured at Gloria and Alexei.

"Which is precisely as it should be," Cal replied with a nod, sipping his champagne.

"Which is why you're over here brooding enough for all of them."

Cal eyed his friend sideways without turning his head. "Do I look brooding?"

Tore shook his head, and sipped from his own glass. "Not at all. I'm sure no one else has noticed."

"If you noticed, Alyse has." Though Cal doubted his wife would say anything about it. It was on her mind too. "We were hoping he'd show up."

"I was too," Tore admitted quietly. "I've still got a guy on the case, but all I can say for sure is he's almost certainly not in Central."

"I appreciate the extra pair of eyes," Cal replied. His own investigations had still turned up nothing. It was as if Charlie had managed to disappear off the map, and since he wasn't technically _missing_ they couldn't involve the police. "I just wish I could understand what was going through his head. None of his reasons for leaving are the reasons _I_ left home." At least, not the ones left in the letter.

"Me neither." Tore shrugged, sounding equally bemused. "Well, not entirely. I think, I hope anyway, he just needs time to think things over and realize that what he's looking for is right back here, waiting for him."

"That's what I keep telling myself." Cal just hoped that if his son came back, he and Shelby could work things out. For now though, he was about ready to drop the subject.  
Tore seemed to sense that as well. "So, how do you manage that relaxed, happy expression?"

Cal held up his glass. "A lot of champagne."

* * *

Charlie looked at the few sens left in his wallet as he walked out of the post office into the darkening skies. It wasn't much, but it would be enough until his next payday. Meager as it was, it was all he could scrape together. He just hoped that what he sent eased some of the burden of raising his children, and showed Shelby he'd meant what he said in the letter.

Enough sens for a drink in the local bar. Charlie tucked his wallet back in his pocket and headed up the street, which also wound uphill, towards the only bar in town. It had taken him a while to find a place where they were desperate enough to take a laborer with only half-use of his auto-mail hand, but he finally had here, in the backend of nowhere.

Charlie walked into the bar, which was fairly crowded this evening. Though he doubted that was unusual. He hadn't been here long, but it seemed to be the only place for adults to spend their time unless they were at home in this town. Like his new boss, Old Man Eli, who ran the automotive shop. Of course, only an old man going blind and arthritic would hire him, and at the barest wage, given he could not really afford the help. Still, Charlie didn't object. There was a room above the shop that came with the job, and meals with the old man if he wanted to walk next door to the house, so he could afford to send most of his pay back to Central. Not that he'd told Eli that's what he planned to do with it.

No one in town knew his real name, or why he was here. Charlie wanted it that way.

"What'll it be tonight, Harlen?" the bartender, Evan, asked him as Charlie sat down at the bar.

"The Cretan Dark," Charlie replied to the alias, ordering one of the small variety of beers available on-tap at the establishment. It was, in his mind, the most palatable.

He paid, and in just a minute Evan was back with his drink, then off to fill orders for another customer. That was another nice thing about a crowded bar; if Charlie wanted to be left alone, he generally was, because there was always someone else to talk to. It had only taken them a couple of days to get bored of the newcomer.

Charlie had given them the most basic story possible, and one he could keep up without trying too hard; a soldier, medically discharged, hard on his luck and just looking for work. Outside of a couple of combat stories, he was ordinary and relatively dull.

He looked down into his beer, holding onto the bottle with his good hand. The other one still ached constantly, even though it was now at least functional. Charlie took a drink, and even though he tried not to think too hard, his mind wandered to his family. He knew exactly where they all were tonight, of course. There was no way he could have forgotten the date of his sister's wedding.

They were all up near North City, celebrating his perfect sister, as she married her dashing, handsome, talented Alexei. Not that Charlie had anything against his sister's new husband. In fact, he rather liked the guy and he thought they were about as perfect a match as he'd seen.

Far more right for each other than he and Shelby had turned out; and he couldn't bring himself to lie any of that at Shelby's feet. All he could see looking back was a long string of him screwing up over and over, right back to the beginning, and it was Shelby and the children paying the price. He'd been a terrible parent, a worse husband, and while he knew it must have hurt Shelby to find him gone, he was certain that by now she had already realized that life was better without him in it. All he was any good for—and barely at that—was providing a meager living, and they didn't need him for that… just his wages.

When he left, he'd had some vague, fuzzy notion of redemption, of making enough to fix some of the mess he'd made of the life of the woman he loved more than life itself. But could he? The longer he was gone, the more he was coming to realize that he might not be able to go home again. His father surely was furious, his mother heartbroken, his sister disgusted… they would see it as abandonment, no matter what he said, and they wouldn't be wrong, in the end. But wasn't it better this way? He couldn't be an embarrassment if he wasn't around.

He was more use to them here, in this old, run down town, working for an old, run down man, fixing old, run down cars. It would never be enough, but every sen was a small, heartfelt apology. 

* * *

_Author's Note: 2/13/2020 Happy day-before Valentine's Day. As a gift of how much I appreciate everyone who's reading (first time, reread, long-time readers) I will be posting several chapters tonight, because we get back to the major action here pretty soon!_


	55. Chapter 55

**November 15** **th** **, 1990**

"I still don't like this."

Sara refrained from rolling her eyes as she packed another pair of thick wool uniform socks in her duffel. They'd had this argument last time, and they were clearly going to have it again now, for the hundredth time. "Franz, you already agreed to it."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it." Half-way dressed for bed, Franz sat on the edge in blue checked pajama pants, the shirt in hand, hair freshly damp from the shower.

"No, but since you're not going to talk me out of it, how about we don't argue tonight?" Sara closed the bag, and moved it off the bed. She had already showered and changed into her own nightgown, and now everything was packed and ready for tomorrow. "I'd much rather do other things."

That got a weak smile out of her husband. "Like the old days, huh?"

She sat down and leaned across the bed, tugging him closer. "Or as near as we can manage." When he leaned closer, she kissed him fiercely.

Tomorrow, she was leaving on another mission; a much more real, and far more dangerous mission than the one to deliver Gavril Mihalov to Drachma. The free Western Drachma movement had spread like wildfire with Mihalov and Niki Marskaya at the helm, with the support of local leadership, and it hadn't taken them long to declare independence loudly and openly, and set a hard border. That in itself was fairly simple given the layout of the mountains. But now they were embroiled in combat, and they had called in their new allies, which meant that now Amestris, Kartos, Creta, Aerugo, and Xing were all expected to prove that their support in the "non-aggression" pact meant something.

For now, that meant direct support from the bordering nations. Creta and Kartos were sending troops; Amestris had specifically been asked for Alchemists. Sara—to her chagrin—had been requested specifically by name, even though she would only be one of a dozen State Alchemists being sent as support. Of course, a dozen state alchemists were worth a couple hundred soldiers in those mountains, where there were mostly narrow passes and few areas for armies to clash in traditional formations.

The Alchemists going were a varied mix of skills, but most of them had experience working together with at least _some_ of the others. Sara wasn't sure how she felt about some of those assignments, but for the same sentimental reasons as Franz, and she would rather have them by her side if it came to it. For one thing, Cal Fischer was coming, officially in command of the Alchemists. Having Whitewater along made her feel better. Aside from him, however, the two of them were by far the oldest alchemists in the bunch. Trisha was coming, and Ted, along with Felix Tringham and the rest of Ted's team from before he'd run off to Drachma. From what Sara understood, they had been surprisingly understanding about the whole thing. The other alchemists coming along were not ones Sara knew, having all come into the program after her disappearance, but she had been assured by her daughter—who had trained them—and Tore and Cal, that they were top-notch.

Based on the descriptions of the terrain, and what combat had occurred along the borders so far, the Alchemists would likely not be standing on any traditional _front lines._ Which suited Sara just fine, since her skills were best from some distance anyway, especially the two-alchemist transmutations she and Trisha had been working on. That did not mean, however, that there would not be risk involved. Combat was unpredictable no matter how good the battle plan.

Not that she was going to bring that up tonight. Before her kidnapping, Franz would have accepted the dangers as a matter of course. They'd have missed each other, but he would never have tried to talk her out of a mission.

Sure, Sara still had nightmares, and no, she couldn't run as long and hard on her leg as she could before. Without the advances in medical care she'd probably still be hobbled in a wheelchair instead of getting ready to charge back into danger. Without the advances in psychological counseling, she'd be more of a mess, but she wasn't going to let what-ifs, might-have-beens, or not being young and whole keep her from doing what needed to be done. What was her purpose in living if not to help fix this mess?

Tonight, was the last night they would be together, probably for months, and while she couldn't keep Franz from fearing for her, or herself for worrying a bit about them both, they could make the most of it. When the kiss broke, she pulled Franz's sleeping shirt out of his hands. "You won't be needing that for a while."  
His still-dark eyebrows climbed towards the silver hair above as he smiled. "Yes ma'am."

 **November 16** **th** **, 1990**

It was still dark when Ted kissed Anika a tender farewell in the living room of their cozy home. Nikolai, who had just finished his early-morning feeding, was passed out on her shoulder. It felt weird to be going back to Drachma without her, and heart-wrenching to be separated from her and their baby boy. It was barely three-months since his court martial hearing, and Ted found it ironic that it was that brief a period before the fact he could not leave the Amestrian borders except under direct military order had already come into play. Still, he had been dragged into it, him and his entire team, and he was just grateful they hadn't taken it too personally that he'd run off to find Anika.

Apparently, they hadn't even been that shocked and hadn't held it against him much.

Anika added a quick kiss to his cheek as they separated. "That's for Niki."

Ted chuckled. "Well, I hope you won't mind if I pass it on as a hug, or a handshake." He wasn't kissing his brother-in-law on the cheek.

Anika grinned. "That will do. I wish there was some way I could come too."

"Me too," Ted bent down and picked up his duffle. That was another thing that felt weird; going into Drachma with all of his State Alchemist gear. There would be little chance of needing stealth on this mission. Not that he hadn't stuffed at least one Drachman civilian outfit in the bottom of the bag, and his fake IDs, just in case. "But you'll be more use here, helping coordinate communications with the resistance."

"I will," Anika agreed with a smug, sleepy smile. "Don't worry. I won't let Amestris fall apart while you're gone and you know, everything here."

"I'm not worried about the house. I know that will be fine. At least I know both of you are safe." He reached out, very gently caressing his son's cheek with one finger; not enough to wake him. "I just hate leaving you to take care of him alone when he's still so small."

"We'll be fine," she assured him. "Besides, I won't be completely alone. Mrs. Valhov and the rest of our friends will be over often to help me out, and plenty of your family is here in town. If I need anything, I promise I'll ask."

"Good." That was all he could ask for really. The last thing Ted could afford to do right now was put even a toe out of line with his orders. Outside, he heard the honk of a car. Felix Tringham's wife had offered to drive them both to the station. Ted gave her one more quick kiss. "I love you."

"Love you, too. Be careful."

"I'll do my best." After all, he had a lot to come home to.

* * *

The plane's interior seating had been modified to accommodate more people, though that made the interior cabins much more cramped, Cal noticed as he stowed his duffel in the storage compartment. Already not a huge fan from his last flying experience, he hoped the flight was, at least, smoother. He definitely preferred his feet on the ground, but getting to where they were needed in Drachma quickly meant the best way to deliver them was by use of the plane. In the not-too-distant future, it would not be the _only_ plane either, not that it was common knowledge. In fact, it was highly classified that Franz had finally green-lit the development of further aircraft. History had already proven that they would be fools not to expect their enemies to be developing more of them, and they couldn't allow someone like the Hashman Syndicate, or the Zinovek Regime, or any other similar group to gain air superiority. Besides which, if anything did happen to the one they had, they would be hard pressed to build another quickly enough.  
An old factory not fair from the storage area they had been using as their make-shift airfield for months was already being changed over for the task, though from what little Cal knew, the designs were still not entirely finalized, though they were currently based on recreating the one in which he now stood, with mostly interior modifications, better defensive weapon systems, and for use with a more efficient fuel that was being quietly developed in Alchemy Lab 2.

The plane full of alchemists began to fill up quickly now, as most everyone had said their goodbyes at their own homes. Everyone here was here on deployment.  
 _How do I let myself get ordered into these things?_ Retirement. He was _supposed_ to be retiring to a life of relaxing and spending time with Alyse. Instead here he was, ostensibly, the commanding officer for this mission, even _with_ Sara along. Or maybe it was because she was along. Cal wasn't entirely convinced Franz hadn't put him on this mission specifically because Sara wouldn't buck his orders, and because she had been out of commission long enough that Cal was now, on paper, her superior officer and functionally much more in practice.

He had the feeling she knew it too, because she kept giving him sidewise glances that were knowing looks, as if waiting for him to say something. Not that she said anything as the other alchemists began to file in, and load their stuff, the plane filled with chatter. Trisha joined them, heading for the cockpit with her co-pilot. Cal was grateful they had at least taken the time to train others in the flying and basic maintenance of the plane. Sara had learned much on her and Trisha's last mission to Drachma, but the newest co-pilot was one of their youngest State Alchemists, a pretty little redhead who was just barely out of the program and hardly looked like a military officer even in her uniform, but useful for this assignment in more ways than one. Aside from having trained very quickly as a pilot, she was not only generally trained in alchemical combat, but her area of expertise was in alkahestry. While Amalea Finn looked like a child, she was twenty-three and had trained to be an alchemical doctor under Ren and Ethan before choosing to become a State Alchemist like her father before her. Her alkahestry skills, and affinity for using small static energies to keep trauma patients alive and restart hearts had earned her the name Live Wire Alchemist.

Ted Elric, Felix Tringham and the rest of their team—Pulse, Glacier, and Sensation— filed on and were stowed and ready to go with efficiency and a steady patter of banter, despite the early hour. Having seen their work previously in Drachma, he hadn't been about to split up that team. Pulse gave them another alchemical healer with an electrical bent, though her combat skills were much stronger than Live Wire's. Glacier was a no-brainer with the ice and snow they'd be dealing with, and Sensation's skills while far more subtle, were the type the enemy would be unlikely to expect.

The other three alchemists Cal had hand-picked for the mission weren't quite as new as Amalea, but none of them had yet to attain the rank of Captain or Lieutenant Colonel, and had not been teamed up together before either. Still, they rounded things out nicely.

The Rapid Alchemist, Ryan Wilkes, was in many ways that Cal could appreciate, not unlike himself in his younger years; twenty-five, cocky but good-natured, and his alchemical specialty was also water, hence the name. He didn't have Cal's finesse or experience, but he was good at handling a lot of raw power. The biggest difference between them that Cal was aware of, was that Ryan came from a very supportive home life, with parents who had given their only son everything they could with what little they'd had.

The Marble Alchemist, Misty Parkwaller, was a geological specialist. Cal had a hunch that given the mountainous terrain they would be in, and some of the defensive and offensive uses they had already found useful in that terrain—especially from Ted's own reports of his time fighting in the mountains—she might be incredibly useful, even if she was probably the most serious, down-to-earth person on the team.

Finally, to round out the team, Cal had picked one of their more unusual talents; the Molecule Alchemist. While the art of alchemy was always taking it apart, changing it up, and turning it into something else, Wren Muniez had made an art out of fine-tuning at the invisible levels. Cal had seen her warm the air around her simply by speeding up the rate at which the very atoms in the air were vibrating, instead of waiting for the air to warm naturally. She could change the temperature of things to cold as well, through direct control and manipulation, and it was something she could do incredibly fast and with surprising precision. Beyond that, she had the same set of general alchemical combat skills as any well-trained State Alchemist.

The only thing they didn't have was a fire alchemist because, well, they had exactly _one_ of those, and he was staying home with the kids while his wife flew this mission. Besides which, fire would be of more limited uses, and for now, they were going with a dozen. More might be needed later, but for a first wave, Cal had wanted the most efficient and capable team possible, that could also be split into a wide variety of combinations for whatever needs they might have.

As much as he was ready to be done, Cal had to admit that being the lead on what was entirely a mission of alchemists again was far different from being in charge of units of infantry. _This_ was what he had lived for in his early days, before the promotions, before the desk job. Tactics and alchemy, combat against a clear enemy. Being _General Fischer_ took a backseat here. Even in command, it was because he was _Whitewater._

"Ready to go, _Boss_?"

Cal turned to find Sara had come up beside him, and was giving him a smug little grin. He nodded. "Whenever our pilot tells us we're ready for take-off."

"We will be as soon as you get in a seat…Sir," Trisha quipped from where she and Live Wire were running through the pre-flight check. The engine was already on and the plane rumbled around them.

"Then let's get in the air," Cal replied as he and Sara took the two remaining seats, on the end of the row nearest the cockpit, and buckled in. "We have allies waiting for us."

* * *

The flight was fascinating for the first hour or so, Ted thought. It was _his_ first time in the contraption, since he had left Karmatsk by other means. Take-off was fascinating and a bit thrilling, and once they had stabilized at high enough altitude and were flying straight Trisha told them if they wanted to unbuckle and look out the front or the small side windows that were not designed for great visibility with their extra seating. So, most of them took turns poking their heads out and watching the world pass by far below with a variety of different reactions. Most of which involved awe, and maybe a little fear, though some were outright delighted. Ted noticed that Fischer opted to remain firmly in his seat.

"Not a fan, General?" he asked as he re-took his seat.

"I prefer my feet on the ground," he admitted with a casual shrug, though Ted could see tension in the way the man sat. "And for the duration of this mission, it's Whitewater. We're all alchemists, and it will keep there from being any confusion when we're out on the battlefield with soldiers from three other nations."

"Yes, Sir, Whitewater." Ted grinned, refraining from making any snarky comments. Nearly everyone who knew him knew how much Whitewater hated desk work. Most State Alchemists were action-driven, preferring to be out on a mission than writing their reports. Whitewater was legendary for his exploits in combat, but most of the alchemists in Ted's generation or younger had never seen him in a full out fight. Oh sure, he came down and trained with the other alchemists when he could, but that was hardly the same thing, especially since they were discouraged from destroying Headquarters. "I'm sure we'll have enough trouble keeping orders straight when they're being shouted in four languages."

"Well, you might," Rex Neil, Glacier, quipped grinning at Ted. "Make sure you don't start barking _our_ orders in Drachman, Proteus."

"I think I can keep the languages straight," Ted retorted, though there was no bite in it. He'd been putting up with a bit of good-natured razzing from most of his team ever since he got back from Drachma and he had been allowed to tell them he was _back_ and somehow not court martialed. He had been relieved that they not only weren't really too angry with him, but seemed delighted by the fact he had brought Anika back with him—they had all liked her before—and seemed to feel that having lived rough in Drachma and now enjoying the _pleasures_ of being a new father were enough punishment. His first team would never have been so forgiving. _I hadn't earned it from them though._ He was grateful to be going into combat with them once again.

The other alchemists he didn't know quite as well, since they hadn't been assigned to anything together before this, and most of what he knew was from word around the office. None of them were incredibly new. Whitewater would never have assigned them to this otherwise. Still, it was an interesting mix, and he wondered what working with them would be like. Rapid was probably the one he knew best, because he'd made quite a splash—pun intended—with some of his earliest missions. He was brave, a little reckless, and had the luck a State Alchemist needed to pull off things that seemed crazy to anyone else. There was talk he was the next Whitewater. With both of them on this mission, Ted had a feeling he'd see soon enough for himself.

The group had a wide variety of talents and specialties—two alkahestrists too, he'd noticed, which he hoped would not be needed, but was almost certain they would—but Ted had also noticed that there were seven women, and five men. He was certain that had nothing to do with why anyone had been chosen, but it did speak to changes in the people applying to, and getting through, the State Alchemy program these days as officers, and not just research alchemists. He'd seen pictures of the State Alchemists from when Aunt Sara and Whitewater had graduated, and from when Grandpa Ed and Great-Uncle Al had started the program, and even before, when Grandpa was first an alchemist. While it had been that way for as long as Ted had been a State Alchemist, it was an interesting shift in the mentality of the Amestrian military, and a good one in Ted's mind, given the alchemists he got to work with.

The only thing missing was Anika, with her rifle, guarding his back. He had gotten so used to having her along, that it felt more than a little wrong to be going out to fight again without her, especially so soon after fleeing Drachma, wondering if they would ever see it again. Yet a small, selfish part of him was relieved. The part that had driven him to defy orders and race into Drachma to find her could rest more easily, knowing that Anika and their son would be safe far behind the Amestrian border.

"Hey… Proteus…" A sharp nudge in the shoulder came from his left.

Ted looked up at Rex. "What was that for?"

Glacier grinned. "You're musing."

"Yeah, well, we've got _hours_ to kill up here. You entertain yourself your way, I'll entertain myself mine." Besides which, it was better to get it all out now, before they hit the battlefield.

Apparently the others felt the same, because he saw understanding in their eyes, especially Felix Tringham's, and his Aunt and Whitewater; the ones who had families back home they were responsible for. Sure, they all had families, but most of them didn't have children. Heck, none of them were married. Ted used to think that didn't make as much of a difference, but he'd _very_ recently learned otherwise.

"I've got an idea." Vastillia reached into her pocket. "Who's up for a game of cards?"

* * *

As much as Franz was inclined to spend the day fretting, there simply wasn't time. With the alchemists in the air, on their way to meet up with Mihalov's forces in the Western mountains, and the troops coming in from Creta and Kartos by truck or train, Franz had a long list of reports, meetings, and orders that were going to eat his day, and many days for months to come.

The alliance had made an official statement of support two weeks before, and Savahin had reacted precisely as expected, which was to say he had declared a state of war between Drachma and all of the allied nations. A foolish move, and one Franz could not see how he could even hold up, given a large portion of the military under Zinovek rule was caught up in fighting the Western Drachman liberation army, or trying to hunt down Marskaya and his resistance fighters in the Eastern mountains. All he really held was most of the frozen North—if it could be called having control over an area that was mostly small towns that were isolated and self-sufficient—the North-Eastern most areas, where Karmatsk was, and the central valley region.

Still, on the day the declaration had been made, Franz had given the order for nearly half the soldiers at Northern Headquarters to move up to Briggs to reinforce the patrols along the border they shared with Savahin's Drachma. While Amestris had _not_ opened its borders to refugees, they could now flee into the western portion of Drachma, and he had reports that it was already happening.

War with Drachma again in his lifetime, on his watch. Franz didn't like it, but at least this time it was on their terms, and for now the fighting might never come near Amestris' border. At least the Assembly had stopped hesitating and fully gotten behind the military in taking a hard stance against how the new regime was handling things. It made his life just a bit easier not having to argue the very basic necessity of Amestris' involvement in Western Drachma's bid for freedom with the members of the Assembly on a daily basis.

Not that there wasn't plenty of other things to debate with them on a daily basis. Though the more things blew up in Drachma, and the more screwed up and dangerous it became, the more cooperative the Assembly was with Franz, and with the new alliance. Which was why he was even on the way to the meeting he was now, right before lunch.

His meeting room held only a small group of people, and one with whom he did not have to be overly formal; Lieutenant General Morel Bridges, who was in command of the Engineering Corps, and directly under him on this project, Colonel Simon Ryker, who was in charge of the currently very small but determined group of military engineers—and a handful of State Alchemists—with the clearance to be on the team bringing the Amestrian military into the future of flight. Sitting with them were the project advisors; the four people in Amestris with the most experience with aircraft or the mind for it that Franz knew.

He felt only mildly guilty at having kept family from returning home to Resembool, but without them, this project would have taken far longer. Edward and Alphonse had, in particular, the most experience with the mechanics of flight and planes, thanks to their time on the other side of the gate, where the world had been developing that technology decades sooner due to the state of warfare that seemed prevalent there. Winry was here too, because while she hadn't spent as long, her mechanical expertise on them was just as impressive. Between the three of them, they had pulled quite a lot of information out of their private library; a surprising amount of which Franz had been able to lay hands on in military files he wasn't sure any President between him and Roy Mustang had even known existed.

Then there was his brother-in-law, Aldon, who had put on a show of being irritated at being pulled away from his duties as Mayor of Resembool—not that he would be for much longer, since he wasn't running in the upcoming elections—but had clearly been intrigued by the project.

"So, where are we?" Franz got right to the point as he sat down at the head of the table.

All eyes went to Colonel Ryker, since it was technically his project. "The factory renovations are nearly complete, Sir, and I have the updated plans here for approval." He pulled out a roll of blueprints. "Based on the improvements suggested by the design team, and the alchemists designing our more efficient fuel, both of the new designs should be nearly twenty percent more efficient."

Franz nodded. "Show me what you've got then."

Ryker unrolled the designs on the table and began a detailed discussion. The designs that had come out of this particular think tank were similar to the plane that Franz had seen, but there were some noted differences in the design that Edward and Alphonse had insisted were necessary to make it more aerodynamic. At present they were designing two types of aircraft. The first were troop transports, which were the most like their existing plane, designed to hold up to twenty passengers, with plans for a larger transport if the concept proved itself. While it had defensive weaponry capabilities, it was primarily meant to haul people or—if they removed the seats—supplies.

The second design was a sleeker model made more for stealth, or combat as needed, though it could still sit a crew of up to eight people. Franz had tabled the idea of a true _fighter_ plane as Edward called it, like the ones Drachma had already been designing. There was no way that was anything other than an offensive weapon, and until it was necessary, Amestris did not want to be the ones to make it look like they approved of, or were interested in, taking combat to the skies. The smaller planes, which would have the ability to drop bombs if needed, and did have machine guns in case of running into Drachmans in the skies, were more than adequate for now.

They just needed to get them made, and that meant a lot of proof of concept, testing, and building something that even though it was made of metal and wires, was more complex than anything his engineers had created before.

"How long before we have the first of each type ready for a flight test?" Franz asked when the explanations were done.

"About a month, presuming everything stays on schedule," Ryker replied. "The new fuel is already in testing and we should have a ready supply by the time the planes are ready to go up." The new planes were also designed with additional fuel storage, to avoid having to refuel in enemy territory.

Franz nodded. "Good. How are we doing on pilot selection?" For that, he looked to General Bridges.

"I've asked every commanding officer to send me the names of their top five officers or soldiers with the best reflexes, and mental capabilities for learning and implementing a lot of technical data quickly and reliably. From there, I've started conducting interviews to weed out those who aren't suitable. Fullmetal and True Soul have been assisting with the determination of criteria and looking over the applicants with me," he added with a nod towards Edward and Alphonse. The General looked a bit uncomfortable just using their Alchemist titles instead of referring to them both as Generals, but Franz knew that in their retirement, they would have been perfectly happy to just go by Ed and Al. That, however, seemed to make the younger brass even more nervous and compared to Edward and Alphonse, they were _all_ younger.

Franz nodded approval once again. "If there are any problems or delays I want to hear about them immediately. They're to be expected with something experimental like this, and I'd rather have that note on my desk rather than find out about it later. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Ryker replied, and everyone else nodded.

The meeting wrapped up fairly quickly afterwards, which meant Franz might actually have a moment to grab a bite to eat, and he had a feeling his in-laws knew it, since they and Alphonse waited until everyone else had left the room, including Aldon, who was talking with Ryker as they left.

"Mind if we join you for lunch?" Edward asked without preamble.

"Not at all," Franz replied. "Though I have trouble believing you miss eating in the mess."

"Oh, I never said that," Ed chuckled. "I was thinking of hitting Antony's down the street. If we're early we'll miss the mid-day rush, and I haven't eaten there since we got back to town, especially since you've had us all the way out in the boonies working on this project."

Despite the sardonic tone, Franz could tell his father-in-law was actually pleased to have been asked to be involved in yet another project and was actually enjoying it, no matter the reasons it was necessary. For one thing, he was grinning. For another, he was clearly relaxed. "Sure, I think I can squeeze that in before my afternoon meeting."

Winry smiled. "Good, because we weren't giving you a choice."

"Is this a you don't trust me or Sara doesn't trust me to eat properly while she's gone?" Franz asked, though he kept his tone light as they left the briefing room.

Alphonse shrugged. "Can't we just enjoy the pleasure of your company?"

"Now you see, I'd believe that of you, and her," Franz nodded towards Winry, "But I know for a fact Fullmetal always has an agenda, or an angle he's working."

Ed chuckled. "As a matter of fact, I don't have either at the moment."

"Though I do have a question," Winry commented as they reached the stairwell, which was empty save for the four of them.

"I'll answer it if I can," Franz promised, wondering what she wanted to know.

"Why did you let Ted go on this mission?" Winry asked as they descended. "And how did you ever convince the rest of his command upline to go along with it?"

It was a fair question. Even though Franz had the authority to override pretty much anything if he wanted to push the point, he almost never did. "Well, given the specific phrasing of the court's decision, he could be sent out of the country under military orders. As far as why I sent him, both Whitewater and Sara demanded that he go."

"I can see where he'd be useful, given his recent experiences," Alphonse mused.

"Though Sara's exact words were pretty much _I need an Edward Elric, and I'm better off taking the one who follows my orders._ "

A loud snort startled him, and he turned to see Edward doubled-over on the stairs, holding on to one railing… laughing. "I bet she did too," he gasped.

Well, at least he wasn't offended. "He's inherited your brilliance and luck for improvising plans that look insane and somehow work," Franz continued. "Based on his reports of his time in Drachma, on top of what we've already seen, and his knowledge of Drachman tactics, the political situation, and his credibility with the locals after helping rescue Mihalov and fighting for the resistance movement, he's a useful asset."

"Where I'm not." Ed nodded as he straightened up, regaining his breath.

"That isn't what I meant," Franz objected.

"Still, it's true." Ed shrugged, and continued moving. They all started back down the stairs. "Brilliance only gets you so far these days. Even if you had offered me the mission, I'd have turned it down. Besides, I'm much better off helping you here with this project."

"We all are," Al nodded.

"I'm lucky to have experts I can trust, with knowledge no one else has." Franz knew that without the three of them, this project timeline might have been years, not a very short few months, even with the good fortune to have had their hands on a functional plane from which to design and build new ones.

"Not for long though," Ed pointed out. "We're teaching military engineers how to build them right now, and others to fly them. Mustang and I agreed to put that knowledge away as a secret decades ago because it was dangerous. Now, want to or not, the enemy has it, and we'd be fools not to make use of what we know."

"The fact that you approve means a lot."

"If we didn't with everything we know, we'd be putting Amestris at a distinct disadvantage, and serious risk."

"We can't put up a defense against an air attack without having the capability to match them," Alphonse nodded. "What other choice do we have really? At least this way, we can make sure that the first generation does it right, and will hopefully pass that down to the next."

It was true, none of them would be alive forever. There were moments Franz was impressed that the three of _them_ were still alive. Impressed, and grateful. Both of his own parents had passed, and while his sister was alive, they didn't get to see each other often. "We can hope," he replied to Al, "and do our best."

SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK

"You've been back and forth so much, it's almost like you haven't moved away," Alyse admitted to her mother as they sat at her dining table in the mid-afternoon, sipping tea. With no meetings today, it had been quiet since Cal left early that morning, and she was grateful her mother was still in town to talk to.

Elicia smiled. "Retirement isn't nearly as quiet as many people seem to think. Of course, your father and Edward are a terrible example of what to expect."

"Do you know anything about this project they and Aunt Winry are working on that's keeping you here longer?" Cal hadn't told her anything about it, and had insisted it wasn't part of his job to know. Alyse didn't entirely believe him, but if he was keeping his mouth shut it was not only classified, but it apparently wasn't specifically a State Alchemist related job, even if her father and uncle were involved.

"Officially, probably no more than you," her mother replied, stirring honey into her tea. "Unofficially, I know they sent for some of their notes from the house in Resembool. Since Winry's involved, and they've dragged _Aldon_ in on this, I'm guessing that those notes are not related to alchemy, or at least, not primarily. I'm guessing that they're probably engineering notes from a long time ago, during their travels. They had encountered some of the technology we're seeing now, in its experimental stages. It's still a guess though."

A very likely one. Alyse could see why they would be useful then, even if she wasn't entirely sure what the project entailed. She'd place bets though that it had to do with creating another flying machine like the one that almost no one was supposed to know about. So, of course, it was no longer a secret, at least not in certain circles. She was frankly impressed that it hadn't leaked out as more than rumors, or that Savahin hadn't mentioned it in one of his broadcast tirades against Amestris. Perhaps he was hoping to keep people from thinking about them for his own purposes. "I'm sure we'll find out once the project's finished. If it's for use in this conflict, they won't be able to keep it secret very long."

"This is true." Elicia picked up her cup and sipped. "Now, have you heard anything new about Charlie?"

Alyse shook her head. "Only what you know already. Shelby got a second envelope last night, right on schedule, with the same amount of money as the first one. Charlie's note wasn't any more informative than his first one." It was, however, something. The first envelope had arrived in town almost the same day as their return from Gloria's wedding, setting aside at least the fear and uncertainty of knowing if Charlie was even _alive._ It didn't take away the pain of him having simply left, but Alyse had been relieved to know he was, at the very least, not dead and that somewhere he had found work, just as he had promised. In fact, that had been the entirety of the text of the note that came with the money. _As I promised. I'm sorry it took so long to find work. I get paid every two weeks._ That was it. No return address, no signature, but clearly Charlie's handwriting. Shelby had called her, crying all over again, as much from relief as sorrow.

"What did the second note say?"

"Almost nothing. Just _I made a little extra this week._ It explained why there was a little more money, but that's it." Not a personal statement, an emotion, a _miss you._ "Of course, we've given one of the envelopes to Tore. Cal's had him quietly trying to at least find out a rough area for Charlie's current location. If we can even figure out what town he's in maybe we can find a way to at least send him a message, or something…." What would they even say to him? Alyse had spent several sleepless hours trying to figure out what she would put in a message to him at this point that would at the very least not make the situation worse.

"At least it's someplace to start," her mother offered hopefully, ever the optimist. "He did what he said he would do, and he's somewhere alive and employed. These are positive things, and hopefully that means he's figuring things out. At the very least, he cares enough to provide _something_."

"There is that." Alyse tried to remain positive these days. Life was settling into a new pattern, but one that allowed her daughter-in-law to continue both working and attending her college classes, while still taking care of her children; the three she had, and the fourth coming, which had been a startling surprise. "All I can do is try to keep everyone's spirits up. Is it wrong that I feel conflicted about the fact that the children have adjusted so quickly to not having him around?" Sure, they missed their father, but in the day to day rush of life, the little ones were easy to distract, and caught up in discovering the world and learning and play. They had their mother, who was the one who spent the most time with them anyway, and their grandmothers to take care of them when she wasn't home.

"It's never easy, when a parent disappears out of your life, no matter the reason," her mother replied with a wistful expression. "They know he's alive, and all they know right now is he's working far away. He's not dead, so there is always that possibility that he'll come back, but that's enough for them, I think. They're so young, but not too young to understand. When my father died, it was terrible, and final, but at least it was that… final. Moving on was the best thing for us, and I know my mother did everything she could to make me happy, and help me get over how much I missed him. It doesn't matter to me that he was only in my life for an incredibly short time; I will always be his daughter, and I still miss him. Right now, the best thing for them is to encourage them to be happy and live with the new situation until we know how things are going to change. The unsurety is worse than having a certain answer."

Alyse, who could not imagine growing up without both of her parents in her happy home, with her brother, had heard plenty of stories from her mother and father about their own childhoods. "And, Dad and Uncle Edward had a good relationship with their father there at the end, didn't they?" Even though Hohenheim had left for his own reasons, and returned much too late.

"Well, a better one," Elicia shrugged. "They came to understand each other. In the end, they will learn to live with or without him in their lives, and they'll still turn out okay."

Alyse noticed her mother stopped there, and decided not to ask what happened if a child _didn't_ turn out okay. She felt bad to think it of her own son, who had grown up in a stable family, with parents and an old sister who loved him. Yet here they were. "I hope so. I'm doing everything I can to make sure that happens." All she could do was hope it would be enough.


	56. Chapter 56

**November 22** **nd** **, 1990**

"For all the hurry they took getting here, they don't seem to be in much of one now," Sara groused as she watched the front of the Drachman line through her binoculars. In the three days since their arrival on the front of the Western Drachman line, there had been no fighting. Not that she was complaining about peace, but it ran antithetically to the Zinovek strategies along other portions of the mountain range locally referred to fondly as _The Wall_. Up until now, while the Western portion was fighting without back-up, the Zinovek army—Sara refused to think of them as the rightful Drachman army—had fought aggressively up every single stretch of road that wound its way up into the mountains that formed the wall between central and west. The higher plateaus and steep peaks gave the new Western Drachma an advantage in terrain that helped make up for the lack of numbers, but it hadn't been quite enough. Still, they had managed to block off more and more routes between the two, either by fighting off soldiers or using explosives to blow up whole mountain sides, blocking off smaller mountain roads, and even ripping up train tracks where possible.

The landscape around and below Sara was a prime example of why no one in their right mind _invaded_ Drachma. The road below them was the largest highway in this part of the country, and the only main road that ran from Petrayevka far out in the central plane up to the provincial headquarters of the west. It ran parallel to train rails that they had already successfully dismantled enough of to keep the Zinoveks from using them, and the river that had cut the deep mountain gorge that ran sharply down from the top of the plateau to the valley several miles distant.

It was only because of how straight the gorge was that they could see the army far below in the distance at all, even with binoculars. They were camped out of shelling reach by tanks, and seemed to be waiting for something. Sara just wished she knew what it was.

"If I thought they knew we were here, I'd bet they were afraid of us," Cal Fischer quipped beside her.

"It's possible their intelligence isn't so bad it didn't notice us flying in," Sara pointed out. "Or pick out us standing up here in Amestrian uniforms."

"That would explain why they're still standing there," Cal acknowledged. "Though it doesn't explain why they were doing it for three days when they arrived here before we did."

"It's possible they think that position does have a tactical advantage," Gavril Mihalov suggested. "Or, and I don't like this possibility, they're waiting for more back up that they think will even things out enough for them to make an attempt to take this pass. Whoever controls it will control the main access point between the mountains and the plains, which right now means our entire declaration of independence will be for nothing if they can bring military forces through here at will."

"Which is why we're here." The Kartosian and Cretan troops were still moving in, but would be focused mainly further south to keep the Zinoveks from making a direct push into the low-valley area of the mountains—which were surrounded by what were still towering peaks by Amestrian standards—towards Kartos and the ocean. Even Savahin had been smart enough to realize that losing his industrial base was more critical than having a port. At least for now. While more soldiers might eventually come north to join them, for now the Amestrian alchemists were the primary support for this point, and the one other road still open to the north.

That was where Ted's team was currently heading, since it was under heavier bombardment and seeing regular combat. Cal had apparently had little reservation about sending Ted off in charge of the group, and given they had experience working as a team, and in Drachma, Sara hadn't seen any reason to object either. She had insisted on Ted coming after all.

That left the rest of the younger alchemists here with her and Cal. Not that they were all inexperienced, since that group included Trisha, and none of them were completely green. They were just so young in her eyes now, and fresh. Like she and Cal had been a few wars ago.

"So, we're waiting for them to make the first move." The comment came from Cal.

Gavril nodded. "We can't afford to destroy this pass yet or cave it in, or we would have already. They can't afford to either, for similar reasons. We have the advantage of high ground and they can't flank us. They have the advantage of numbers, but they have to fight their way up here to get at us. At the moment, they're a containment force, here to keep us from expanding, but also to keep our attention divided, hoping to keep our people more spread out. Though we don't think they have an accurate count of our numbers."

Sara doubted they did. It was unlikely that the Zinoveks were aware that Western Drachma had offered pardons and commuted or more lenient sentences to nearly eight-five percent of the inmates in the prison work camps, working in the factories and mines, if they would put their name on paper in contract signing allegiance to Western Drachma and promise to work in her defense. While that did not mean all of them went into the military, it did mean a huge swell in their numbers. Then there were the now-defected members of the Drachman military, which consisted of the entire Western Division, and several thousand defectors that had crossed the mountains to join them. All of which had been thoroughly screened and questions to avoid allowing spies into their midst.

Not that anyone could ever be one-hundred percent certain there weren't spies. They could, however, keep track of those people to make sure they couldn't be in a position to leave or report back. Only the most trusted were in on the tactical meetings.

It felt more than a little strange to be counted among the most trusted, but Sara had definitely been in weirder situations. In the short time since their arrival she had been approached by no less than four prison guards who had—visiting individually—prostrated themselves on the ground, either on one knee or both, to ask her forgiveness for their treatment of her. As none of them were the men who had directly broken her bones, or shot her as far as she could tell, Sara had forgiven them with little thought. They had been, she reasoned, just doing their jobs and their duty and she had told them as much. If they were to work together now, there could be no remaining bad blood. If they wanted to make it up to her, they could successfully help put an end to this civil war.

Sara was much more comfortable around the regular Drachman soldiers. They knew who she was, but none of them had interacted with her during her incarceration. She spoke their tongue fluently, never put on airs, and when she had walked the fires the night before through the camps—some habits were hard to break, even if they weren't your army—they had accepted her at their fires with only a little trepidation, which melted away as she demonstrated she really did just want to listen to their stories, and get to know them. She even sang along when they got around to local folk songs she had picked up listening to others sing them in the prison, on the rare occasion people sang while working.

It felt odd to be more at home there than with her own people. It was fine around people who had known her for most of her life, or theirs. Her family, bless them all, treated her almost as if she had never left, aside from Franz' tendencies to be more over-protective; a tendency her son seemed to have also developed in her absence. Still, her daughter, her nephew, and Cal treated her as just herself. Even Felix Tringham, while being respectful, had treated her just as he had when she had last been his superior officer. There was no hero-worship or awkwardness.

It was different with the younger alchemists. _None_ of the rest of Ted's team, or the new group Cal had put together that she was now working with, had ever worked with her before. They had never met her until this assignment. To them, their whole careers, she had been immortalized as a legend and a hero, a martyr to some depending on how you looked at it. While none of them behaved in an outwardly worshipful fashion, there was none of the camaraderie she had built up with the alchemists of her father's generation, or her own. There wasn't even the comfortable respect she had normally gotten from her subordinates. Rapid, Marble, Live Wire, and Molecule all seemed to find her intimidating, though some hid it better than others. If there was any open hero worship going on it wasn't aimed at her, but at Calvin Fischer.

Sara wondered if Cal was aware of it. It made sense for the Rapid Alchemist, who she understood most people considered the _next_ Whitewater given not just his area of expertise with water, but his good looks and cocky attitude. Sara could definitely see how he wasn't too unlike Cal from his younger days, except he was too shiny and new to have any of Cal's heavier life experiences. At that age, Cal had _acted_ as much as he had been what people had seen, even if Sara hadn't known that at the time. Rapid wanted terribly to not only emulate Cal, but to match him. There was a clear hunger in his eyes whenever he thought Cal wasn't looking.

Or maybe Cal did know. He had chosen to bring Rapid along on purpose after all. Up here in the snow and water was a good place for Rapid to really get his feet wet and see what he was capable of, with Cal there to give him pointers.

The other one whose idol worship was as much a crush as anything else, was Amalea Finn, whose look of pure adoration Sara had caught once when she was sure the Live Wire Alchemist had no idea anyone had caught her staring, was almost as adorable as it was unsurprising. _You still charm the girls, Whitewater, even when you're not trying._ For Sara, it was amusing more than anything else. She was almost positive Cal did _not_ know about the Finn girl's likely harmless infatuation, or he would most certainly not have brought her along. Still, Sara didn't think it would hurt anything. For her, it was just interesting to get to know the girl, who on first impression did not seem to have much of her father in her, except for his bright hair and dimpled smile.

Sara hadn't seen much of the elder Finn since the Drachman War. After he'd lost his best friends and had a near complete break-down, he'd retired, not entirely willingly. It had been her father's insistence that he had more to live for that had convinced him to do it though. Afterwards, a lot of folks had been concerned that he wouldn't make it; and there were rumors he had tried at least once to take his own life. That hadn't happened in the end thankfully. He had married his girlfriend, who had been quite determined to keep him alive and drag him to the altar, and fathered the adorable and seeming innocent girl that Sara had so recently met. She _had_ seen the girl a couple of times, when she was much smaller, but she wasn't sure Amalea even remembered the times she and her mother had crossed paths with Sara on the streets of Central out shopping. The girl had been much younger.

By the time they got into real combat, they would have to be functioning as a team, and Sara suspected they would get over their hero worship quickly. Though maybe not the fear. Neither she nor Cal could go easy on them, and they wouldn't. They were the most experienced officers, which made them the best to handle the less experienced team. Ted was excellent, but sending his already-practiced team out made more sense. Trisha would help Sara and Cal whip the new folks into shape. After all, she had trained all of them at various points during their time in the alchemist training program, and as inexperienced but new State Alchemists. Sara had overheard Trisha telling some of her 'Mom' stories to them while she was half-dozing on the plane, and she knew that Trisha was doing it to help them get used to thinking of the _Twilight Alchemist_ as human.

Sara adjusted her binoculars again, and looked down at the army spread out far away and below. Wait for them to make the first move might be dull, but it gave them time to get that training in, and that, she suspected, might be the worst mistake Savahin's army could possibly make.

* * *

Ted ducked behind a rock, narrowly avoiding the mortar shell from the tank down the pass. The shelling had been going on for nearly two weeks according to the local commanding officers, and he could see why they were grateful for the arrival of the alchemists, even if they weren't entirely sure what alchemists could _do._ None of the men here were old enough to have fought in the war between Drachma and Amestris. That worked in Ted's favor really, since it meant there was no personal bad blood to be dealt with.

Still, it had taken them a few days past their arrival in Drachma to reach this point. Ted's first impression of the enemy was that they were determined, not incredibly experienced, and possibly getting a little desperate. From a distance none of the soldiers on the other side appeared any older than the ones he was fighting beside. A lot of the old-guard military must be elsewhere, or had deserted. Personally, Ted hoped for the latter. Fighting raw recruits would be much easier.

Not that his plan was to engage in fighting that ended in heavy losses. If they couldn't take and keep the pass, he intended to block it entirely. The reason they hadn't before was it was wide enough that collapsing the walls would not have been enough to block it, and there was no easy way to plant the charges necessary to do so. The land being fairly flat between the cliffs meant that neither side had a marked terrain advantage.

Ted didn't need charges, and he didn't need the walls to be tall enough. For now, however, that was a last resort move, if only because they would then have to go through the effort of re-opening the pass to use it themselves. It was one of the few that hadn't been closed only because it was one of the most important. They wanted to push this group hard and go for a decisive victory if possible. There was no reason they couldn't win this one, and it would send a message. Western Drachma wasn't going to fold or surrender.

The first clue the enemy had that Western Drachma had alchemists needed to be a decisive, unexpected, and impactful attack. Ted had his alchemists thinking about the best way to do that, and he'd promised them that in this case, flashy was absolutely acceptable. If they could intimidate the enemy, so much the better.

Now it was time to see if a couple of days' frantic planning would bear fruit. Ted was set up at the head of the pass, with Niki Marskaya and a radio. The two sides had been lobbing artillery at each other on and off for some time, since at this distance firing anything else was a waste of ammunition. The Zinoveks seemed fairly confident in their position at the moment, and that it was a safe distance from anything the mountain folk could throw at them.

They were about to learn to take those "mountain folk" very seriously.

:This idea of yours is crazy,: Niki pointed out as they stared down the pass, Ted waiting for signals that his people were all in place.

Ted chuckled, and smiled at his brother in law. :You should know by now that all my ideas are crazy. That's why they work.:

Niki did not disagree.

The plan had come to Ted in one of his usual strokes of random genius, as he remembered a folk tale he had heard one night while they were all entertaining themselves under the Marksayas' mountain. What better way to terrify Drachmans, than with a monster out of their childhood nightmares?

Their own men had been warned only to expect something very unexpected, and very much not real, no matter what their senses told them.

Felix Tringham was just on the other side of the head of the pass, behind a large boulder, where he had a clear view all the way down but without putting himself in the immediate field of view. His alchemy was the base on which all the others would build as they created _Ishkala,_ the ice snake queen.

Glacier and Pulse had taken up positions in the forested area above the pass. It had taken them hours, under the cover of cold darkness, to sneak up there unseen, but that was something State Alchemists were generally good at, especially with as much sneaking around the Drachman countryside as they had done on their last mission here.  
Normally of nominal use in combat directly, Sensation was in a position of unusual risk, having moved even further along the pass than the rest of them, also along the time, avoiding any possible Zinovek patrols in order to be close enough to have a direct effect on them. It was still over a hundred yards between her _very_ well-hidden position and their front line, but it was also _only_ a little over a hundred yards. Still, it was her brilliance that was going to bring their monster to life.

It was Sensation who was actually starting this little operation, and it would be the beginning of her transmutation that signaled everyone else, because it had been too risky to put her on radio so close to the enemy.

Still, the timing would be perfect. It was nearly dusk, and the light would mess with people's eyes as well.

Out of nowhere, down the shadowed pass, small luminescent balls of glowing colored light began to waver out of thin air, as if rippling on waves. Only knowing what they were—some of Caroline Flynn's well-crafted alchemical illusions—was it clear to him that they weren't actually there at all, even though his eyes and mind were telling him they were. _Meticulous work as usual.  
_

That was Felix's cue. Ted watched as his compatriot placed his hands on the prepared transmutation circle, and up from the ground several yards down the path dirt rose up and moved, snaking across the ground as if there was something very large, and very long, slithering beneath it. With the movement of the dirt it rumbled threateningly, which echoed nicely in the high-walled pass.

The ground shook, the walls vibrated, and Ted prepared to assist with his part as he knew the others were bracing in their own locations.

It took all of them working as one to create what erupted from the ground in the middle of the pass, nearly equidistant between the two armies…a winding snaking beast whose core was thick deep roots, wrapped in a body of dirt of Ted's making, and pure shimmering multi-faceted ice-scales that came from Glacier. He gave the ice snake her face, and mouth, and it moved and hissed more lifelike than any puppet. As she erupted, lightning crackled down from the sky above, striking between her and the Zinovek front line. Again, and again, and it struck the very front of their line, hitting a tank. All the while Sensation's careful manipulation of energies made their _Ishkala_ the most real and terrifying beast ever to crawl the earth, with eyes of glowing brilliant blue, her dancing attendants of glistening light-spirits that called the lightning to destroy the unfaithful…. It had been a story designed to keep children in their houses at night, where they were safe away from something even more terrifying than bears or wolves.

 _Ishkala_ was not known for mercy or forgiveness, but cold judgement and even colder fury.

Ted wished he could see the expressions of the Zinovek men as their tank exploded and crackled, and the beast hissed and thrashed, flinging shards of ice-scales along with the lightning. As both of those were real enough, and doing immediate damage, there was no reason the enemy shouldn't believe what their senses were telling them was attacking.

Which was precisely what Ted could hear in the distance, even at this range, as people shouted and screamed. To their credit though, most of them weren't running…. Yet. Working his own transmutation, he could no longer look through the binoculars, but they had soldiers stationed at various points with radios reporting back to Niki, who was grinning broadly.

:It's working,: Niki told him. :The front line has no idea what to do against your monster and they've scattered, as two tanks have exploded so far, and a berm., but it doesn't look like they've given up yet. They're rallying. They probably have more munitions further back.:

:Of course they do.: Ted would have been shocked if they didn't, or if they had just given up and run. Panic or no, they couldn't afford to abandon their position. Savahin and the rest of the Zinovek party weren't exactly benevolent or merciful leaders. Anyone who deserted would have a price on their head and a shoot to kill order for as long as the new government remained in power in Petrayevka. :The question is how many monsters can they stand up to, and how long can we keep this charade going?: He had little doubt that eventually their clever little alchemical beast would take a direct hit that they couldn't convincingly slough off, and she would have to die dramatically, but hopefully she would put enough fear and confusion into the enemy that they would hesitate to go on the offensive. If this worked, he fully intended to work up a few more nightmares for them. In fact, he had a whole list of ideas; some from Drachman folklore, and others entirely of his own devising.

 _Ishkala_ meanwhile roared and spat, shot ice and lightning, and moved forward, causing utter mayhem on the enemy line.

:They're rallying,: Niki warned as something crackled over the radio. :Looks like they haven't pulled up the big guns yet, they've just managed to grab their rifles. They weren't expecting an offensive attack this evening.:

:That _was_ the idea.: The beast was taking all of his focus now, to feel not only his own alchemy at work, but the energy of the others involved in creating their incredibly complex creature. Glacier, as the exterior, was its eyes, and the rest of them had to follow his lead and his energy. It was the first time any of them had worked together _this_ tight-knit, even in the time they had been together as a team, but none of them had hesitated at Ted's suggestion. Or maybe they had just gotten used to their leader having wild notions that always seemed to work. Ted wouldn't have suggested it if he hadn't been fairly certain they were good enough to pull it off.

The first volley of rifle shots barely made a dent in Glacier's ice which was, impressively, incredibly hard and dense despite the short amount of time he'd had to create it. The few shots that could hit it, with Sensation messing with their heads, glanced off at angles. Ted hoped his people were staying low and out of sight and range like they were supposed to.

 _Ishkala_ reacted with a monstrous icy roaring noise of irritation, thrashing and flailing, and more lightning struck the earth among their men and more ice scales flew. Another volley did less damage, but Ted could sense some of the ice starting to fleck off, and Glacier having the beast react appropriately.

They had discussed when to pull back, if given the opportunity. Using her more than once could be useful if the enemy didn't kill her off, but it was much safer to push their limits with an alchemical puppet than real lives.

Glacier knew this, and so did Felix, and Ted felt their energy with his as they moved _Ishkala_ right up into the front lines in a surge of anger, her icy coils ripping through the lines, beating men flat or sending them flying. In a rage, she surged into their camp, knocked over three supply trucks, demolished a make-shift shed, and did enough damage that Ted hoped no one noticed she had yet to try and actually bite or eat anybody.

:They're bringing up another tank!: Niki warned Ted, and the other alchemists who had radios with ear-pieces. :Now might be a good time for your grand finale.:

Ted felt the energy between them change, and a subtle nudge downward was the only warning he needed before _Ishkala_ let out a scream, a violent barrage of ice and lightning, and then dove, plowing deep into the earth so hard it shook, and Ted marveled at the cleverness of Tringham, who used their root-base to actually dig, pushing dirt out of the way with a little clever alchemy, and the head of the snack went down many feet and took a sharp bend before any of them began to let her parts dissipate, and as the tail followed, it too was allowed to vanish, leaving nothing on the surface but wreckage and a hole down which no human would dare try to squeeze into, but through which the giant snake might return at any time.

:What are they doing now?: Ted asked as he lifted his hands off his transmutation circle and released the energy. Despite the cold he was sweating profusely.

:Staring in horror at the ground mostly,: Niki replied. :It doesn't sound like any of them have figured out yet that it's alchemy and not a magical nightmare beast.:

:At the moment, there's not necessarily much difference,: Ted replied, feeling incredibly satisfied. :If they've never been exposed to alchemists, than they have no idea what to expect.:

:I worked with you for months, and I still often don't know what to expect,: Niki pointed out. : _This_ is nothing like what I saw you do in the East.:  
Ted shrugged. :This isn't something I could have ever pulled off by myself. Oh sure, I could have thrown together a puppet that attacked people, but it would not have been nearly as convincing, or powerful, and I could not have added all the additional effects. It would have been a much more basic construct.: He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. :Tell the others to withdraw and come back in to camp. We'll let them chew on this for a day or two and see what they do next.:

:And if they get cocky?:  
Ted grinned. :Then they might just get a repeat visit from a vengeful mountain spirit.:

Niki shook his head, but even he looked impressed. :If I were them, tonight I would be incredibly drunk.:

:If I were them, I'd be rethinking my life choices right about now.: Ted stood up, protected by the boulder they were behind, and followed Niki back towards camp. :Though a drink doesn't sound too bad either.:

:Well, it's not our home vintage, but I'm sure we've got something around here that won't take paint off a tank,: Niki assured him. :Palaces, prison breaks, ancient Drachman beasts, I'm beginning to believe most of your crazy stories.:

:You mean you didn't before?:

:Oh, I figured they had to be true at the base, but I did think you'd exaggerated a bit. I'm reconsidering my stance on that. Though you're definitely straight up nuts.:

:What makes you say that?:

:You _did_ willingly marry my sister.:  
:I would have thought you'd have felt it was the other way around.: That her marrying _him_ was nuts.  
Niki laughed. :You'd think so, but I know my sister. You deserve each other.:  
Ted decided to take it as the compliment it seemed to be intended.

 **November 23** **rd** **, 1990**

One thing Sara could say the Drachman military knew how to do, was camp in the cold. She had been given a small officer's tent all to herself. It was the tightest, least leaky, warmest tent she had ever been inside. The damp outside rarely crept in at all, even first thing in the morning. Impressively, each officer tent also came with a small portable stove into which coals from the camp fires could be placed, and it would radiate heat all night long. While the tent wasn't toasty, it was a far cry warmer than it would have been, and it was balmy compared to the camping she remembered from the last war.

The furniture and bedding were top notch for military campaign gear as well. _No wonder they were less bothered by the weather than we were._ While she had no way to effectively send letters home, she also had a folding desk and a portable lantern for her use. Tonight, she sat at it anyway, composing her notes for things she wanted to tell the rest of her family when she got home, and possible plans for how they could effectively defend the pass when action finally came. This included training regimens with their alchemy team, which was most of what they had done that day. Drills working in pairs and swapping out who each alchemist was working with to get them used to working together. Each task was designed to make them not only stretch their thinking, but find ways of working together. Sara and Cal had made a point of not working together themselves, to avoid giving Trisha and Ryan—Rapid—any ideas of how to use their alchemy together, given the similarities in styles. Sara and Trisha had also not paired off, given they had been working together ever since Sara had been given medical clearance to resume her alchemy.

Now, after dinner, it was nice to relax in her own space and let her leg rest. However much she had recuperated, Sara had to admit she was not where she had been before her kidnapping. The cold made her knee ache, and she was grateful for the warmth of the radiating stove, and for the carafe of hot coffee she had been allowed to leave the mess with all to herself; mediocre coffee, but it was strong and it was hot and that was enough.

A knock on one of the wooden upright poles by the door caused her to look up from her work. :Come in.:

The woman who came through the door was almost as old as she was, wrapped in a dark, umber colored wool coat, and had a look of open curiosity on her face. Sara was about to ask what she was there for, when she realized there was something vaguely familiar about those features. Not that she had a name…. but she almost never forgot a face. This one she had last seen disappearing into the night as Sara was taken into custody on a moonless Drachman night during one of her many escape attempts.

:I thought it was you,: the woman commented, smiling. :I had to see for myself.:

:It's been a long time,: Sara replied evenly. This woman was the first person to search her out who had been a fellow prisoner, and not a guard. :But yes, it's me.:

The other woman nodded. :It's good to see you, Amestris.:

Sara had been dubbed "Amestris" on day one as the only Amestrian in the place. Her Drachman had been, not terrible, but limited at rusty. That had changed quickly. Only a few of the prisoners—almost all nobility or government members or employees—had any grasp of Amestrian. She smiled back. :Good to see you, Cabbage.: The other woman's nickname had come, so she'd been told, from both the tiny crinkled waves of her short hair and a mishap on kitchen duty her first week in prison.  
Cabbage laughed. :I haven't been called that in ages. My name is Tonya.:

:Sara,: she introduced herself, :Though you probably already know that.:

Tonya nodded. :I worked it out.:

:Please, sit down,: Sara offered, motioning towards the edge of her bed and pouring a second cup of coffee in the spare she'd brought in just in case of company. There was always someone else coming in who needed coffee in an officer's tent. :Where did you go, after the escape?: she asked curiously as Tonya took the offered cup and seat.

: South, one of my sons has a place in the mountains; remote fishing cabin on a small lake. I hit out there a while until they stopped hunting for us and then moved into Franale, changed my name, and got a job working as a supply clerk.:

:So you're here with logistics.:

Tonya nodded. :Not a fighter, but I wanted to be part of this. Valhov was the one who got me and my husband locked up in the first place, so he's the reason he's dead. No interest in letting any of his kind run this country.:

A common theme. Sara nodded. There were a lot of possible responses, but it seemed best to go with something general. :He deserved what he got.:

:I heard his own men killed him,: Tonya commented, but her expression said she had other ideas. :Funny thing though, it was right after he told the whole world you were his hostage, then just a few days later Amestris has you back and the man is dead.:

:I didn't kill him,: Sara replied. That was not a rumor she needed getting around. "Not that I wouldn't have, given the opportunity.:

:I saw how you got here,: Tonya's eyes gleamed, smugly knowing. :It explains a few things.:

Sara wondered how many other people in Drachma had figured out how Sara really got away and back to Amestris so quickly. Or if most had not cared enough to put in the thought and effort into it. Clearly, Tonya had never forgotten the Amestrian alchemist that had orchestrated multiple break-out attempts despite being the prisoner they were most determined to stop and recapture. What about others?

:When did you figure out it was me?: Sara indulged her curiosity.

:The moment he showed you on the television. I would have remembered you even if it had been ten or even twenty years.:

Flattering, she supposed. :I suppose I left an impression. Have you seen anyone else we knew?:

She was grateful when Tonya was willing to shift the focus of the discussion off of Sara herself. :Only a couple. I expect most ran farther than I did, and you weren't the only one caught, or killed.:

:Are they here?:

:No. Uchiori-the one with the scar on his nose- passed through my town last year. He moved to Kartos, of all places, and works in a fish canning factory near the ocean. He was back to visit his sister and heading back to Kartos when I saw him. That was right before the coup.:

:The others?: That particular escape attempt had involved nearly a dozen people.

:The Olshins –the brother and sister—are now in the resistance. We might see them, but they're in the East, so it's unlikely.:

Sara vaguely remembered these people. Names had rarely been exchanged. They were numbers to the guards, and nicknames to the rest of them. :I'm just glad I was able to help someone.:

":Well, I'd always hoped there was some way I could have helped you,: Tonya admitted, running a hand through her short, white curly hair.

The last thing Sara wanted was for the other woman to feel obligated. She must have felt that way for years. :You did enough just helping in the escapes. Nothing that happened to me was your fault.:

:Still, if there is anything just ask.:

Sara smiled as she thought of something she could ask for. She held up her mug. :Can you procure us some better coffee?:

For a moment, Tonya looked startled. Then she smiled back. :I'll see what I can do.:


	57. Chapter 57

**December 1** **st** **, 1990**

It was strange how easy it was to get used to sudden twists and turns in life. Of course, for Anika, the past year had been nothing but strange and unexpected life changes. One moment she'd been a zookeeper, and then a freedom fighter, rescuing her father from prison, falling for a dashing foreign soldier, rescuing the rallying-point leader for the hopeful future of her country, and fleeing that country only to find herself suddenly married, and a mother, with a house and new job in a foreign country. A lot had happened, and yet it felt like almost no time had passed at the same time.

The two weeks since Ted had left to return to the front in Drachma without her had been strange, but not necessarily in a bad way. Anika had expected to feel left behind. It was her family and her country fighting this war, and she should be doing her part.

Yet even as the new mother of a nearly-two-month-old baby boy, she _was_ doing her part. To her shock and relief, she had not been sidelined. In fact, as much as they could get a hold of her, the Amestrian government had been keeping her very busy. Her mornings constituted getting herself and little Nikolai up and ready for the day, and making a short visit over to the zoo to check on Myrda and the rest of her animals. Any one of her friends was happy to hold the baby for a few minutes while she insisted on doing her work herself. By then, he was usually awake and hungry again, and so after feeding both tiger and baby, she would be off again, to Military Headquarters, where they would have her checking their translations of coded messages, helping code communications they wanted to reach Mihalov or her father, and offering her opinions on terrain and tactics as if she had ever been a member of the Drachman military. It didn't seem to matter that her father was the one who had served as a General. They seemed to understand that growing up his daughter and listening to her father talk military strategy for years, as well as working as a resistance member herself, afforded her her own credibility.

Or at least, some of them felt that way. She couldn't speak for the entire military, but President Heimler and the rest of Ted's family seemed ready to trust her word. It was a startling realization, and she tried very hard not to abuse the position that gave her. The last thing she wanted to do was make a mistake.

It was amusing though, to watch them listen to her intently, with Nikolai strapped to her front or back using the wrap blanket she liked to use with him to keep her hands free. He was happy to sleep right on through military meetings at this age as long as he was fed and changed at regular intervals.

For intelligence, apparently the Amestrian military would accept just about anything.

"We've learned not to be too egotistical about it," was the comment General Closson made when she voiced her curiosity after one of the meetings in President Heimler's offices. "Especially when dealing with a force that has proven superior to ours in the past."

Amestris would never _not_ take Drachma seriously, and Anika could her personal emotion behind those words. "You fought in the war." He didn't look all that old, even if he was clearly older than her.

Closson nodded. "I was seventeen and already a State Alchemist when the war started. I was assigned to the same unit as Fischer actually. It was an educational couple of years."

He was putting it kindly, though that made him a good bit older than he looked. Anika had no illusions anymore about what any armed conflict could do to people, and once here, she had quietly made a point of checking out the library, and looking at what Amestris' own records and papers said about the war. From talking with Ted, she already knew that both sides represented the war very differently, but for Amestris it had been a war of survival against an overwhelming invading force. Thousands of civilians had died.

She had never felt more of a kinship with these people than she did now. "I hope, when this is over, my people are appropriately grateful for all that yours have given to secure their freedom, especially the ones old enough to remember when our countries were openly enemies."

Closson smiled kindly. "It would be nice," he admitted. "I've been on more than one mission of peace between them. It would be ideal if this one stuck."

"Well, while I cannot speak for all of Drachma, I feel like I can at least speak for my family. I know that my father has deeply regretted his involvement in the War for many years, and has always been an outward and outspoken proponent of the peace and economic treaties between Drachma and Amestris. That's probably a major reason why Valhov had him locked up in prison instead of trying to use him to win the military to his side."

"It's also one of the reasons we trust him now," Closson admitted. "If we judged everyone for following orders and what they did in war, we would all be so guilty from the blood on our hands that there would be no one left alive in the military who could be trusted, on either side, ever, and at this point a large number of civilians doing what they can to get by." Then, for some reason, his eyes took on an amused glint. "I don't suppose you have some free time? I just remembered that we have a guest on the grounds today that I think you should meet." He eyed the sleeping child across her chest. "That is, if you have the time."

"I have a little." If Nikolai was true to form, he would sleep for at least another hour before waking up howling like a starving Aerugean shrieker monkey. Anika was incredibly curious to know who they were meeting, but Closson gave her no further clues as they wandered down several hallways and three flights of stairs. Then they were outside and crossing the grounds towards another building entirely, and an area that Anika had never been to before, but that she rather quickly recognized as…. "This is the firing range."

Closson chuckled. "That it is. Even though she's retired, this is usually where you'll find our guest, still telling young pups how terrible their aim is."

They rounded a corner to find someone doing just that. Anika was startled for a moment by just how ancient the woman standing before her looked; older even, perhaps, than the elder Elrics. Yet she stood straight and tall, eyes keen, her gold-white hair up in a no-nonsense bun on the back of her head. She was lecturing the group in front of her, who were listening intently. Then, when she finished, they turned and headed for the barracks. Apparently, they had come in right at the end of whatever she was saying.

Closson waited until she looked up and spotted them before motioning for Anika to approach. Then he stopped and saluted despite the woman's no-nonsense but civilian attire.

She smiled at him with amusement. "Stand down. Never have I been your superior officer, and I don't want the job now, Tore."

Closson relaxed and clasped her hand instead. "I'd never have survived training if you had. There's someone I wanted to introduce you to," he said without further preamble, and Anika stepped up to join him, still puzzled, but going along. She must be someone important, and that was all she needed to know until introductions were made. "This is Anika Marskaya… Elric," he added with his own amusement at the end, "our newest informational expert on Drachma."

The woman's eyes lit up, and Anika got a feeling that if nothing else, her last name had sparked recognition. She held out a hand, which Anika accepted in a firm shake. "I've heard about you," she commented simply. "Welcome, Anika. Central's no Petrayevka, but I hope you're finding it a decent place to live."

She'd been to Petrayevka? Anika supposed she should not be surprised. "I'm getting used to it," she answered honestly. "Though with everything going on, I haven't had much chance to explore a lot of the city."

The older woman laughed. "A fair answer. I'm sorry, I should introduce myself. I'm Riza Mustang."

The moment the name came out, Anika knew exactly who she was standing face-to-face with; Ted had mentioned her and so had an awful lot of other people who had seen Anika shoot. Riza 'Hawkeye' Mustang, legendary sniper, soldier, and wife of the infamous President of Amestris and State Alchemist, Roy Mustang. The one Amestris credited with the wall of flames that had decimated the Drachman line and ended the war. "It's an honor… Ma'am."

"Just Riza." But the older woman was still smiling, relaxed and easy. "I'm sorry I haven't been by to pay my respects before now, but you've been quite busy, and I didn't want to be a bother."

"It's no problem," Anika assured her. "I've been very curious to meet you. Ted said he wanted to try and introduce us, but there just hasn't been time, as you said."

"Did he now? I suppose that has to do with the rumor I've heard that you're an incredibly accurate sharpshooter."

"He did voice that as a reason," Anika admitted, finding herself warming to the woman. She supposed that to soldiers under her, or those to whom she was a legend, Riza Mustang must be intimidating, but Anika saw no reason to be nervous. The woman had a smile that reminded her a little of her mother's, with a sense of private amusement hidden behind politeness, and in this case, open curiosity about Anika. "He seemed to think we had a lot in common."

"We both married hot-headed alchemists for one thing."

Anika couldn't help chuckling, and wondered if Ted would be honored or insulted at being lumped in with the Flame Alchemist that way. "That is true."

"You can go, Closson," Riza waved at the General as if he were an errand boy. "This will be a while, and we won't need you meddling."

Anika was only a little surprised when the General took no offense. He nodded respectfully to Riza, grinned at Anika, and headed back to whatever duties he had, which Anika suspected were far more important than escorting her around. "What would he be meddling in?" she asked when he was gone.

"Oh, just girl talk." Riza hefted the rifle she had been holding earlier back down off the rack. "I'd love to see what you really can do. We can both use mine."

"That's your personal weapon?"

"It is. Though I keep it here," she admitted. "There are a couple of ranges outside the city where you can bring private weapons if you have the license, but somehow an old lady like me outshooting everyone makes them uncomfortable." Riza grinned broadly.

Anika eyed the rifle with a surprising longing. It had been months since she'd been able to shoot at something as harmless as a target, and enjoy the pleasure of a well-placed shot. "And they aren't uncomfortable here?"

Riza shrugged. " _Here_ I think they'd be disappointed if they realized there are plenty of snipers who can match me now, even if they haven't bested any of my records yet."

"I'd love to shoot… but I think it might scare Nikolai," Anika admitted regretfully, as she took a moment to really think about her son with her.

Apparently Riza had an answer for that too. "That's what silencers are for."

 **December 2** **nd** **, 1990  
**

Ian had to admit, that he wasn't the biggest fan of going north in the winter. It wasn't that he didn't like mountains, or snow, or snow rela ted sports, after all he and Bonnie had chosen to get married at a Western mountain resort in the winter. In fact, they had just celebrated their second wedding anniversary a few days before.

Still, North City hadn't originally been where he planned to have it, but he was directing a few episodes of the popular police detective drama _Murders and Mayhem_ , and the story-arc he was working on involved shooting several scenes in North City, so here he was, and he was grateful that Bonnie was also a costume designer on the show, since it meant there had been no question or problem with her coming along. Not that they hadn't been apart before, but Bonnie hadn't been pregnant before, and it made him feel better being there for everything, even if it was to make sure she hadn't passed out face-first in sewing project.

Thankfully, at six months in, Bonnie had moved past the worst of early-on exhaustion and nausea and was into the part Ian's brothers all told him was _the pleasant_ phase in between. Not that they had been incredibly helpful in explaining what that meant, but Ian had paid enough attention to his sisters-in-law over the years to know that the time between _always nauseous_ and _starving and waddling_ was the point at which they had almost enjoyed the experience.

Ian just thought she looked cute. His wife had always been hot, even in a t-shirt and jeans with her ponytail falling out. Very little about her style had changed, except for getting versions of her clothes that stretched and were cut differently to accommodate daily growth. This evening's outfit was particularly fetching, since the deep blue-green of the sweater she wore made her eyes and hair both pop.  
"Here it is," Bonnie interrupted his reverie as they came to the restaurant where they were having dinner. It was a little bistro that Gloria and Alexei had recommended.

Which was good, since they were already sitting at a table waiting for them when Ian and Bonnie walked in.

"I'm surprised we beat you," Gloria said by way of greeting. "Our meeting this afternoon ran long."

"So did our last scene," Ian admitted apologetically as he pulled out a chair for Bonnie, who for once took it without complaint. She had stopped complaining about being coddled the first time she needed his help reaching something that had fallen on the floor. "The actors were fine, but we had a light go out, and then the clouds rolled in and changed the light of the whole scene and we had to adjust using another couple of lights we'd brought with us." Outside scenes were always a pain if the weather was uncooperative. That was one reason he preferred shooting outdoor scenes in the summer, or at night when it didn't matter as much because everything was artificial lighting.

Alexei nodded sympathetically. "Sudden changes can ruin the whole shot," he agreed. As a photographer, he certainly understood. "I hope you were able to get what you wanted."

Ian nodded. "We were lucky, the last take was just right, then mist rolled in right after I called cut."

"That's fortuitous timing," Gloria smiled. "How much longer are you filming up here?"

"Another week, if we can stay on schedule. I'm a little nervous about the forecast of snow in two days." Though he supposed the scene could be rewritten for snow if necessary, or moved indoors if snow wouldn't work in continuity.

"If you need an indoor location, my office might be available," Alexei offered. "I mean, I'll have to ask them, but given how much time most of us spend on the road researching for stories, there are plenty of open spaces and a couple of the floors are quiet for days at a time."

That led into a conversation about shooting needs and locations while they all looked at the menu, and ordered drinks and food. By the time appetizers and drinks had been eaten and the main courses arrived the conversation had already circled around from filming to the latest news in politics, to honeymoon stories, to baby updates. Not that Gloria and Alexei seemed in any hurry to start a family. Like Ian and Bonnie had been a few years ago, they had careers to establish, and theirs involved even more traveling. "So, what's your next big story?" Ian asked as he dug into his steak salad.

Gloria's eyes lit up, but he saw them exchange a glance before she looked back at him and opened her mouth. "Drachma," she replied, a little more softly then they had been talking. Ian didn't point out that wasn't new news. There had to be more to it or she wouldn't have looked so excited. So he waited for her to elaborate. "That's what the meeting was about this morning actually. We—both of us—have been contracted to report on the Western Drachman independence movement, and Amestris' involvement in the effort… as war correspondents on the front lines."

Ian's fork paused in mid-air. "You're going _back?_ "

Gloria nodded enthusiastically. "It's brilliant isn't it? We'll be _the_ Amestrian reporters on the scene, right there with the most current news, with proper equipment this time. The government's approved it, and Gavril Mihalov himself has agreed on behalf of the Western Drachman provisional government that we're acceptable."

"Well that makes sense," Bonnie replied, "since he already knows he can trust you."

Alexei looked pleased, if a little more reserved in his excitement. "He knows we can be trusted to report the truth, based in facts, and that we won't reveal sensitive information for the sake of a story. We were the _only_ Amestrian journalists approved, for now. Though I am told that a Cretan team may also be approved to enter the war zone. They're also having to be cleared through government channels."

Ian nodded. Anything involving crossing international lines these days seemed to involve mountains of paperwork on top of the current need for military approval. "Well, congratulations. That's a huge opportunity."

"And don't worry, even I'm not stupid enough to be _on_ the front lines." Gloria grinned across the table at him. "No matter how good the story. Just being able to report current events that spread ahead of rumors, and counter the propaganda the Zinovek war department is spouting all over the Drachman broadcasts will be an incredible boost in information, and integrity—"

"And your career," Ian nodded knowingly at his cousin. She was just as ruthless in the pursuit of her career goals as he had been, and he had little doubt she was going to make an international name for herself in journalism at this rate. "What does the rest of your side of the family think?"

"Mom thinks it's a great opportunity, even if she's worried. She hasn't tried to talk us out of it thought. She knows it won't work." Gloria shrugged. "I told her this afternoon on the phone. Dad doesn't know, and I don't intend to try and send word to him until we show up in Drachma. It's going to take longer to get there by car than it took them."

Flying would definitely have made that a faster trip. "It's what, a week or so by roads?"

Gloria nodded. "Just over. We'll be on the road within the week. They're sending us with a caravan of supplies, so we won't be unguarded."

That was reassuring. "I'm impressed," Ian admitted. "I'm not sure I'd have the grit to go back there after getting out."

"It wasn't _so_ bad," Gloria insisted. "Outside of the death-defying race out of Petrayevka, and the siege…it wasn't a terrible vacation."

Alexei snorted, but he looked more amused with his wife than disbelieving. "Only you could find the silver lining there, my love."

"Oh, I don't know," Bonnie grinned. "It sounded like a pretty romantic trip outside of the violent coup. A romantic trip, a proposal, being besieged in a gorgeous old estate… have you considered selling the rights to Central Vision Studios? I know a romantic who might be looking for a directing project."

That hadn't occurred to Ian, but she was right. It _would_ make a fantastic story.  
Gloria looked as if she'd been struck by lightning. "Well, I'd been working on recording it all down in a memoir just so I don't forget it, and there's what we've published in articles so far, but you're right, we haven't given anyone the rights or the details of the whole story. We should jump on that before someone writes a fictionalized version. Shouldn't we?" she looked up at Alexei with an expression that said she wasn't going to let someone else write it first.

Apparently, Alexei had already learned that there were times one simply did not argue with Gloria, because he smiled and shrugged. "I'm not opposed to negotiating a deal. As long as it's a good deal."

"Don't let CVS buy a similar story from anyone else and I'll have a treatment and outline for you by the time we get back. Sooner, depending on how long this conflict lasts."

Ian nodded. "Don't worry, if I tell Tanner I'm working on an in on the rights to the story and you're interested in negotiating he'll be willing to wait." It was the perfect story really, depending on how the war ended. Though the could always wrap it up with a daring rescue. By the time they got to needed to explain the use of a plane, they probably wouldn't even have to fictionalize it.

By then, it would be good to have a project he and Bonnie could work on together long-term, given where-ever they were, they would have to bring the whole family.

 _Kid, you are going to have one fascinating life._

 **December 5** **th** **, 1990**

Cal could not decide if he preferred the interminable waiting and watching for the enemy to do something, or if he would prefer to just get on with the fighting. It made him antsy to consider what on which the Zinovek forces were waiting. There were reports of fighting to the north with Ted's team, but they were playing destructive mind-games with the enemy that was supposed to have them in a panic. That certainly sounded like Proteus. Fantastical alchemy-beasts that roared up out of mythology and ran rampant through the Zinovek camps, spreading fear along with the damage.

Meanwhile his team waited. Not that they were just sitting around. Their training—out the back side of the town around which the army was camped, where the enemy couldn't see them—was going well, and he was pleased with the few days they'd had so far. They were coming together quickly as a unit, and that was important. Not that he had really expected otherwise with a hand-chosen team. Still, they were an interesting mix of personalities, and he was grateful they could put that aside and work professionally with minimal friction. It not only helped them work well together in transmutations, but it presented a united front, which was important in front of their new allies.

Ones with whom he and Sara had already spent several hours in consultation about possible strategies and the best way in which to use the alchemists which included the very important discussion of just what, precisely, the alchemists could and could not do; as well as what they _would_ and _would not_ do. It appeared that Mihalov had briefed them well, since none of them had tried to suggest anything that even Cal, with his sometimes-looser sense of expediency in place of minor points of ethics, would find inappropriate. So far what they expected was defensive protection and offensive-protection as needed; cover the soldiers, protect them from anything particularly destructive if possible, and if they could find ways to minimize loss of life or secure the pass without destroying it, take the opportunity.

They had been in one of those meetings most of this afternoon, and Cal felt they might finally have a grasp of how to work basic strategy with alchemists available to protect them. He wondered if Western Drachma might be the first part of the country to put aside old prejudices fully and consider implementing alchemists the way other nations used them.

It was just after dinner in the mess when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Cal turned, and was surprised to find Gavril Mihalov standing there. He waited, knowing the man would speak without prompting.

"Would you like to join me in my room for a drink?" Gavril commented casually in Amestrian. "I've gotten a hold of an excellent vintage, and I'd hate for it to go to waste by opening it without someone with whom to share it. I hear you have excellent taste."

Well, if he meant Cal knew a lot about a rather long list of very strong drinks, he supposed that was true. Though he definitely had a more discerning palate now than he had when he was younger. There was something about the offer that made Cal think this might be an excuse to talk about something more important in private, but he could play along. "I would definitely hate to make you drink alone. Lead the way."

As he had said, Gavril led Cal through the small city of tents outside the town walls and through the open gates in the city walls that were kept open for coming and going between the military and the town itself, but were well guarded by civilian police.

Gavril did not have a tent. As the provisional leader of this whole new country, the mayors of the various towns that made up his council—or their chosen representatives—had insisted he have an actual place to stay in town. Not that it was a large place like the Gurina family estate, or even the house Cal was sure the man probably owned in Petrayevka. Both of which probably dwarfed the townhouse he and Alyse had lived in their entire married life together. Not that their house was small, but it was not what the Drachman nobility would have considered worth a man of notable standing.

Not that Cal cared. He liked his house. He also liked that it had minimal yard to maintain, and they could live very well by not spending everything they made on the house. They could have bought something more lavish years ago but he had never seen the need.

Here, Mihalov's temporary lodgings consisted of a modest, but well-appointed top-story apartment in a four-story building the military had appropriated for officer-and-government housing and offices. So it, too, was well guarded. Not that anyone gave Cal any funny looks as he followed Gavril inside. They had been shown the building the day they arrived, and their faces had become quickly familiar to anyone of rank.

It was a small apartment. Cal understood that Gavril had refused anything larger, since it was just him. Still, it was well-appointed.

The bottle in question was waiting on the table in the sitting room in a carafe of ice Two glasses sat beside it, and Cal was even more certain this was not an impromptu invitation. Still, he let Gavril open and pour the drink. "Can I ask what we're drinking?"

Gavril smiled. "This, is a very rare ice wine from the northernmost provinces. The grape season up there is short, and rare is it that they're ever to make more than a few dozen bottles in any given year. Some years conditions aren't right for any, but they have better luck up there than anywhere else in Drachma."

Cal had heard of the ice wines of Drachma, but he'd actually never had one. "I'm honored. This will be a first."

"I've only had it a handful of times myself," Gavril admitted as he saluted Cal, and took a sip.

With the clear signal to drink, Cal tipped the glass to his lips, appreciating the bright sweetness, and the hint of tart that countered it in a vibrant but pleasant balance. "That is exceptional. Do I want to know how you came by this?"

Gavril chuckled. "A fortunate find, and someone trying to curry favor, though it came with no strings attached, I assure you."

"So, what's the occasion?" he finally asked.

"Consider it a thank you…and a bit of an apology."

Cal frowned. He didn't like the sound of that. "What are you apologizing for?"

"I've approved the presence of international members of the press joining us here to report on the war. Currently both Creta and Amestris will be sending journalists."

Cal shrugged. There were already Western Drachman reporters from their couple of larger papers present, and it wasn't as if he hadn't dealt with them in previous wars; mostly by ignoring their presence. "It doesn't bother me to have them here. We're not going to be doing anything I would be ashamed to have reported. As long as they're kept out of anything classified there shouldn't be a problem. Why would I mind?" Maybe Gavril just didn't know him that well.

The other man did not look convinced as he met Cal's gaze evenly. "Because the approved Amestrian reporters are Alexei Deviatovski, and Gloria Fischer Deviatovski."  
Only reflex kept Cal from spraying good alcohol all over the room. Instead he swallowed it too quickly, and almost choked. "You approved _what_?" he gasped with his first clear breath of air.

"They were invaluable to our cause in Karmatsk, and it was my personal experience with them that allowed me to convince the others on the provisional council that they could be trusted." While his tone was sympathetic there was no apology in Gavril's expression. This was a specific, calculated move based on what he thought was best and acceptable for his cause.

"When are they leaving?" If they hadn't left North City yet, he might have a chance to stop them. Not that he had any right to do so, he realized, shutting down that train of thought before it ran off at high speed.

"They are traveling with the supply caravan that left yesterday."

Damn, it was already far too late. "So, they'll be here in a few days." Cal took another drink of wine.

Gavril nodded. "The Cretan journalists should be only a couple of days behind them, in arrival time. We cannot allow the world to hear only what comes out through the limited resources of radio, not with Savahin controlling most of the airwaves in Drachma. Our allies and our own people need to know what we're doing here, and our version of events, if we are to succeed. Your daughter and Alexei built up a lot of trust amongst the listeners, even in Drachma, in a very short time. I, for one, am grateful they were willing."

Of course, they had been willing. Cal had a feeling his daughter had probably _jumped_ at the opportunity. It was a sure career-maker, and he knew she felt personally tied to the events unfolding here because of her time in Karmatsk. Gloria wasn't one to be afraid or hide. In fact the only time he could remember her ever being afraid in her life was when she hadn't been able to stop the Hashman Syndicate from kidnapping Charlie when they were both still in school. "That sounds like her," he admitted aloud. "Given how much she's published about what she witnessed up here in the early months of the war, and what she's talked about, I'm not really surprised she accepted. She's always liked to follow any project through to the end. I don't think I've ever seen her leave anything incomplete."

"From the time I've spent around her, she's an exceptional person," Gavril added as he sipped from his own glass, visibly more relaxed now that he knew Cal wasn't going to take a swing at him or start shouting. "Not just as a journalist, though she proved to be quite adept at her profession. I do promise, they will have a security detail with them for their protection at all times. Though with Alexei along, somehow I think they may be superfluous when it comes to protecting Gloria."

"On that, we agree." Alexei had already risked his own safety repeatedly on behalf of Gloria. That, above anything else, had put aside any lingering doubts Cal might have had about the man who was now married to his daughter. Cal finally sat down, leaning back into the comfy leather chair. Complicated news or not, he might as well enjoy the drink. He was likely never going to have the opportunity again. He didn't intend to be in Drachma that long. "I appreciate the drink, whether it was to make me less likely to kill you or just to cushion the blow, but I have to admit, it seems a waste for something this precious on news you could have simply given us in a briefing."

"I considered it, but it seemed crass," Gavril shrugged, sitting himself. "Besides which, there are very few people here I can sit and have a drink with, at all. Most of them insist they're not of sufficient rank, or they're politicians."

Cal laughed. "Who you can't trust to keep their mouths shut or to have honest intentions no matter what side they're on. So you pick me instead."

"You haven't treated me as anything other than just another man in a leadership role. Amestrians don't seem to be nearly as hung up about protocol behind closed doors. I didn't figure you for the exception, and your daughter definitely talked about you. Positive things," he added, smile widening, "though honest. And, while we're being honest, the not-a-bribe I got consisted of more than one bottle."

There it was, the truth of it. Yes, it was a very expensive gesture, but not only was it not an expense Gavril had actually paid for, it was not the whole of what he had been given. Cal didn't ask how many more there were. He just saluted Gavril with his glass. "Then by all means, I will feel no guilt about enjoying this one."


	58. Chapter 58

**December 6** **th** **, 1990**

One thing Ted have to give the enemy credit for; they were stubborn, even when terrified. Two weeks in, and they hadn't left yet, despite their fight having taken the strangest turn, as it seems nightmares from their childhood were defending the Western Drachman troops. It took them three days of unexpected random attacks to kill the ice snake. Ted's team had taken the time to give them a single night off to relax without the beast, and then shifted focus, using the old mist trick, and Pulse's electricity and Sensation's sensory manipulations to convince them they were being haunted by vengeful spirits. It involves more fore-planning and caution, and sneaking closer to the enemy, but over the next four nights, each morning an officer of mid-level importance had been found dead in their tent with no signs of attack.

That was when they had scrambled and put bright floodlights through-out their entire camp. Ted wasn't even sure where they had gotten that many lights, but anyway that they could find to light the camp had been dragged out of storage and put up in the dark.

In the week since, Ted's team had focused on moving back to monsters in the forests. Soldiers that went out on patrols did not return, or returned having been chased and terrified by monsters they could almost never see in the dark, but that ripped and clawed and snarled.

The non-traditional tactics kept the Zinovek's off guard. They didn't know how to fight an enemy they couldn't shoot at effectively, though the forest on the hillsides had taken a bit of a beating. There was less cover to hide in now.

:They're getting desperate: the local military commander, Colonel Polov commented as he, his unit commanders, and the alchemists stood around the map table in the war tent. :While I know we've enjoyed a bit of a rest thanks to your _unusual_ tactics, we should expect them to go for a traditional attack before they lose many more men. The remaining commanding officers can't afford to wait for more of them to be picked off, or to report a major loss up here or lack of progress back to Petrayevka. We can't trust that the other conflict zones will keep them from sending backup to this location.:

Ted nodded. :If it comes to that, we have more traditional combat tactics. They won't like those either.: He had hoped to minimize loss of life on both sides, and while he felt that had worked so far, they were coming to a point where that might not be possible regarding the enemy.

Polov looked mildly reassured. :They'll figure out at that point we have probably been using alchemists this whole time, but the element of surprise also won't be necessary at that point because they'll know they've had no luck countering you. That may work to our advantage.:

:We usually do,: Ted admitted without any hint of modesty. :That's why we're here. It won't be anything as fancy as what we've been doing, but I think we can throw a few metric tons of dirt down their throats. If it comes to it, we could even bring the entire pass down on them and use alchemy to put it back later.:

That earned him several skeptical and surprised looks, and a :You can do that?: from a snarky Major.

Ted gave them his cockiest grin. :I've done it before.:

:It's true,: Niki chimed in. :That's the tactic he used to protect one of the Eastern resistance bases. Blocked the entire road with an avalanche, and then created a new entrance later.:

The skeptics looked only mildly convinced, but none of them wanted to argue with a Marskaya. Or at least not in front of their commanding officer.

:That's one strategy we have, but it's also not the only one,: Ted continued. :You've seen the variety of specialties we have for yourself, and the different ways they can be combined. Whatever ground strategy you choose, we can improvise around as needed, if you have to change plans in combat, _without_ putting your people at risk.:

Polov at least seemed fully convinced. Certainly more than he had been when they first arrived a couple of weeks ago. He nodded, and leaned in over the table. :All right then. Here's what we're going to do.:

 **December 11** **th** **, 1990**

The town of Holavon was smaller than Gloria had expected, for the town that hosted the majority of the Western Drachman forces, and was the center of their fortifications. Not that it was all that small truly, but it wasn't the size of any of the major cities in Amestris. It might be the size of Buzcool, if Gloria had to estimate. It was a little hard to tell with the wall around the city, though the wall reminded her of Karmatsk, which implied that Holavon was also an older city. As it stood at the pass between two regions, she could imagine it had been an important location for a town for years.

"It looks a bit like Karmatsk," Alexei voiced the thought she'd had, "Though it isn't the seat of a noble house, so there's not a grand estate for us to stay in this time."

"I think we'll survive." There was something empowering about returning to Drachma on her own terms, and on the side where they had a military between her and the other side, as well as Amestris' State Alchemists. "That is, if my father doesn't have an aneurism when he finds out I'm here."

"They've probably told him we're coming by now," Alexei pointed out as the truck they sat in drove through the entrance to the military encampment.

Gloria wasn't sure if it would be better if he knew already or not, but it was a moot point, and a minor issue. What she was doing here had almost nothing to do with her father _as_ her father. This was professional, and this time with the backing of not only their employers, but the governments of two nations and proper press credentials. "It will be fine." Then she smiled. "Though it's a good thing we took our honeymoon in Aerugo. That residual warmth can keep us warm while we're here." It was as cold as she remembered it being a year ago, when they had been on her first visit.

Alexei chuckled softly, and the arm around her shoulders in the snug seating space tightened a little. "I'm sure we'll be able to keep warm."

Gloria felt herself flush slightly inside, along with the feeling of contented pleasure she often had when they were together. It had been there before the wedding, but the simplification in their lives being through the wedding, and sharing their lives and living space just meant she got to feel it every day. "I'm sure we will. You know, it seems weird to think it's been almost exactly a year."

Alexei nodded, a little more soberly. "That was supposed to be a happy night."

"Well, it was, for the first part." Gloria leaned against him. A year ago tomorrow they had stood on the ice in the middle of Petrayevka, with Alexei about to propose, when the shots rang out, and the world turned upside down; Drachma forever changed, and their lives as well. "I don't think anyone could have known then how things would have turned out over this year. I just hope that it doesn't take another to end it."

"Well, however long it takes, we'll be here to cover it."

Gloria looked out the window as row after row of military tents passed, and a larger tent appeared just ahead. Then the trucks were stopping, and she saw people waiting for the caravan, some of whom she recognized: Gavril Mihalov, Sara Heimler, and her father among them.

Then the truck stopped, and the men in the front seat got out, and there was a flurry of activity as they got out of the back, she and Alexei included, and joined the waiting delegation.

"Welcome, comrades," Gavril Mihalov smiled, shaking hands with the Lieutenant Colonel who was the leader on this supply mission. "The Western Drachman coalition thanks you for your assistance and your timely arrival. We'll be unloading into the warehouses in a bit, but for now, if you'll have the vehicles parked over there, we've got food and refreshment waiting for you in the mess."

Gloria stood with Alexei, waiting patiently for the more important issues to be dealt with. It was only when the convoy had been greeted properly, and was in the process of moving to the correct parking location, that attention was turned to them.

Gavril Mihalov startled her by clasping their hands warmly; Alexei's first, then hers. "Welcome back to Drachma, my friends. While I would not call these ideal circumstances, I would call them far better than when we last spoke."

Alexei grinned. "Thank you, sir. We appreciate your having us."

"As if I would have been comfortable with anyone else," Mihalov chuckled, still holding Gloria's hands in his for a moment. "Having seen your work first hand, it was an easy request to make. I also get to finally offer my congratulations to you in person. I hear it was a beautiful wedding."

"One of my mother's creation," Gloria spoke up, "and thank you. I hope to thank your aunt again for her gifts someday. They were perfect."

The look on Mihalov's face said he knew exactly which items his aunt had given her the previous year. For a second, he looked a little emotional, but it was quickly gone. "If I have the opportunity, I will pass on your words. While I haven't seen her in person, when last I heard, she was still safely in hiding and causing mischief for the occupation in Karmatsk."

Gloria was amused by the idea of the elegant Mrs. Gurina causing mischief for the men who had taken over her home. "I'm sure she's giving them just what they deserve. Now, where and when do you want us?" she asked, shifting the conversation to business.

Mihalov looked slightly amused. "We have an apartment for you in the city. You'll be in the building right next door to the one we're using for headquarters, and the Cretan journalists will be in the same building as you when they arrive. You're welcome to eat here in the mess, or in the kitchens in our offices with my staff. And this," he gestured to the woman remaining whom Gloria didn't know, "is Vineta Janson, my press secretary. She will have an itinerary for you, updated by the end of each night, with which meetings the next day will be open to the press, and any pertinent information I'd like to share with you in advance to aid in your preparations. She can also help you with any questions you have about policy, the city, the situation here so far, and any assistance you might need with crew for your equipment or repairs should the need arise."

Gloria turned her attention to Vineta, who shook her hand briskly, but her expression was friendly.

"I look forward to working with you," Vineta said in surprisingly good Amestrian. But then, Gloria couldn't imagine that Mihalov would have hired someone who would have difficulty understanding foreign press. They couldn't assume that everyone coming actually spoke Drachman.

:And we with you,: Gloria responded smoothly.  
Once they made arrangements to meet up first thing in the morning for a more detailed press meeting, Mihalov and Janson headed off in different directions. It didn't matter the hour, there was much to be done.

That left only one person left to face. Gloria turned around, and smiled. "Hi, Dad."

There was nothing professional about the bone-crunching hug she received as her father pulled her in close. "Why did you have to pick now to prove you inherited my crazy?" he murmured softly.

Gloria couldn't help smiling. "It seemed like the right moment," she replied. "Don't worry, I'll be careful. I'm not here to make history, I'm just here to report it."

"That's a relief."

"Do you really think I'd put myself in harms way for a story?"

"Well you are _here,_ " her father pointed out as he loosened his grip and stepped back. "I don't have to be in the business to know this kind of work can make a journalist's career."

"Only if I'm alive to reap the benefits." Gloria reminded him. "If anyone needs to be careful it's _you_." Remembering the letter in her pocket, she pulled it out. "Mom wanted me to deliver this. She said something about how it's tradition, but I don't know what's inside it."

"Tradition, huh?" Her father took the envelope, and smiled a little before putting it in his pocket. "Definitely something to read in private then. I have a meeting in a few minutes," he said then, reluctantly. "You two settle in, and I'm sure I'll see plenty of you tomorrow."

That sounded like tomorrow promised to be interesting. "See you later, Dad."

"Shall we go?"

Gloria turned and saw that Alexei had already hefted his bag, her bag, and their equipment bag. "I can carry some of that, you know."

"I know you can, but that doesn't mean you should have to all the time." Alexei smiled.

* * *

A tradition. The moment Gloria had said that, Cal knew the letter was _not_ for public ears or eyes, though he was dying to know just what Alyse would have put in a personal private letter to her soldier. The last time they had exchanged war-time letters seemed a lifetime ago. In many ways, it was. Having Alyse in his life had changed everything. Back then, he'd been afraid to get close, and unsure if he'd even survive the day some days. What kind of a life was that to offer a woman?

Alyse had persisted, and their letters back and forth had been a lifeline for him, even though they were nothing like the steamy letters—and sometimes photos—that many of the older men got from their wives or girlfriends back home. They had been full of meaning though, and now he knew, love. Enough that she had forgone writing to join the military effort to repel Drachma, just to be near him.

Cal sat on the edge of his cot in his private officer tent, and turned the envelope over in his hand, wondering exactly what kind of letter Alyse had sent him, but also enjoying the anticipation of wondering, of savoring the moment before he opened the letter. He knew that, in reality, it was probably one of the letters like the ones they had shared before, full of missing yous and what was going on back home. Still, Alyse's choice of phrase, which he was certain Gloria would have delivered accurately, made him wonder.

He sniffed the envelope. While it wasn't doused in perfume, he could still smell Alyse on it; the light floral scent of the lotion she used for her skin. The envelope was her personal stationary—not the one she used for her business or general letters—a light lavender, edged in thin gold. Inside, he knew he would find matching lavender paper with a subtle print of purple-and-green lilacs in the corners. There was no address, of course, because she would not have known where to send it. The front envelope merely said _Calvin_ in her characteristic neat, elegant cursive.

Finally, Cal opened the envelope, slitting it carefully to avoid ripping the paper. Then sliding the letter carefully out and unfolding the paper.

Looking up at him was a photograph of his wife, smiling with that special, alluring expression he only ever saw in private. It was a shoulder-and-up shot of her, hair down, which meant the only visible part of her outfit was the straps of the dusky-blue nightdress he knew she was wearing, because this was a photograph that he had taken himself just a few months ago. Alyse would never have posed for anyone else, or been able to smile like that with anyone else behind the camera. She had humored him, only because he swore no one else would ever see them. It was a favorite photo, because it captured multiple aspects of his wife's personality, and her look that was both classy and sensual.

His insides tightened a little with the ache that came whenever he missed her. Being away for any length of time reminded him just how much he loved her, especially after everything they had been through together, and to stay together.

Finally, Cal set the photo aside and opened the letter itself.

 _Hey there soldier,_

 _I couldn't resist. It's been a long time since we've been apart where I could write you letters. It was frustrating that I couldn't a few months ago with any hope of getting them through to you, so I'm taking advantage of Gloria's good news to send this one., if it makes it to North City before she leaves._

 _The house is too quiet without you. Miss Whiskers has been quite put out that you aren't here to lay on in the evenings, and gives me terrible looks of disdain. Not that it stops her from curling up on me instead, but I don't sprawl the way you do._

 _Not much has changed since you left. Everyone here is fine, though Abigail and Cameron both miss their Grandad. I've assured them you'll be back, though they don't think a "work trip" sounds very exciting._

 _Enjoy the photograph. I realized that in all the time apart during the last war, I may have been the only girl who didn't send her sweetheart a photo. You had to put up with getting me instead. While I wish I could follow you this time, I know it's better this way, so you'll have to settle for an image you can show off. Yes, I sent one I don't mind you flashing around when those young pups start bragging._

 _Take care of yourself. Remember, you promised me no more coming home shot full of holes. When we start getting news reports I better see you alive and in one piece. Finish this for them, like the war hero you've always been, then come home quickly so I can give you a proper hero's welcome home._

 _With all my love,_

 _Alyse_

A proper hero's welcome; well that was something to look forward to. A little more incentive—as if he needed it—to rush back home as soon as possible.

 _Don't worry, 'Lyse, we'll have this wrapped up and I'll be home. This time, I'll keep that promise._

 **December 12** **th** **, 1990**

"—and that's when she told me Gabe had a squirrel locked in the upstairs bathroom."

Gavril laughed at the punchline of Trisha Mustang's story as they sat in his apartment, drinking tea. Her stories about her children were not only entertaining, but they made him feel a little closer to his own daughter even though they were hundreds of miles apart. He had been relieved to know that Darya and Amylla were safe in Pylos, guests of the Argyros family. That meant they were being treated the way they ought to be, even if it was in another country. They were safe, and that meant that Darya had taken the opportunity he asked her to…that she had at least read his letter even though she had never written him a direct reply. "How did you ever get the squirrel out?"

"Oh, we lured it into a box with a few nuts, then carried him outside and let him go back up his tree. It was the last time Gabe ever left his bedroom window open with food on the sill though, so I think it was a lesson well learned." Trisha smiled. While the misadventure must have been crazy at the time, she obviously had fond memories of the incident, in that way most parents seemed to when there was nothing else to be done for it. "I'm just grateful Rosa had the forethought to close the other doors in the hall when she spotted the squirrel. It really only had two places it could run after that, and it's not their fault it didn't choose to go back out the window."

Gavril wondered if Amylla had adventures like that one. He was certain she'd have loved the story. "She seems like a remarkably put-together young lady for a teenager."

"That seems to run in the family," Trisha admitted, though she was clearly proud. "If we're going to do anything foolish, it's usually in our dangerous career choices… sometimes taken at an early age."

Gavril didn't need to ask. He knew enough about General Sara Heimler's history to know she had been in her first battle at fourteen. "May you be blessed with far more normal parenting experiences."

Trisha took another sip of her tea.  
There was a knock at the door, and the voice of Lieutenant Palmers came through the door. :President Mihalov, you have an important guest who wishes to speak with you.:

It had simply been easier to allow them to call him President, even if it was of a provisional and possibly temporary government, than to argue. Gavril also preferred the term over anything else the Drachman government had ever used. It was much more reminiscent of the slightly more democratic governments in Creta and Amestris. "Were you expecting someone?" Trisha asked. "I can go."

"I wasn't," Gavril admitted. Not that that meant much in the middle of a war. Stealing a few minutes for a normal conversation had been an unprecedented moment for him so far. "Wait here. It may involve us both." He stood and approached the door. :Who is it, Palmers?: The lack of a direct introduction made him curious.

A moment's pause. :It's… your wife, Sir.:

The words _that's impossible_ died on his lips as the meaning of what had just been said hit him. He swallowed; his mouth suddenly dry. "Let her in."

The door opened, and the woman standing in the entrance in non-descript winter coat and slacks was without-a-doubt, Darya Visilni Mihalov. Mid-length ash hair was pulled back under her fur-lined hat, even as she managed to make the plainest thing he had ever seen her wear look elegant just by virtue of wearing it. A million words rushed the forefront of his mind, crashing into each other in a mélange that made it difficult to find the right ones to say. All he could manage as his emotions overtook him was, :Darya.:

He was saved for just a moment by the rustle of someone behind him, and Trisha Mustang edging past them quietly with a "I'll go check on that report," and then she was gone.

Darya watched her go with a side-eye that did not look pleased, but she did not speak to her. Instead, she looked back at him, and waited until the door closed behind them before speaking. :Hello, Gavril.:

If he had thought it would be welcome, he would have rushed to her, taken her in his arms, and kissed her. That was how this war time reunions were supposed to be; romantic and full of reconciliations. At least, that was how they went in the old romances. Gavril knew life almost never turned out that way. :It's good to see you, Darya,: he finally managed, :But what are you doing _here?_ I thought you were in Pylos.:

:And not long ago, you were in Amestris. We get around a lot,: she replied glibly, though without humor. :I _was_ in Pylos. Amylla is still there, safe… with the Argyros family. They have been incredibly hospitable.:

:I am glad to hear they are treating you as you deserve,: he replied cautiously. He had no idea why she was here, and his mind was not supplying a realistic response. Did she wish to make up? Or had she finally decided to stop waiting and it was safer to go ahead and get the divorce papers signed and over with. Either was possible. :I've been worried about you.:

:I know.: Her expression softened, just slightly, though it was still cautiously closed. :I got your letter.:

The letter in which he had poured out his heart to her, and urged her to flee at the same time. :Would you… like to sit down, have some tea?: he offered, trying not to sound too awkward.

:Are you sure I didn't interrupt something important,: she replied without moving.

:What? Oh, no!: He shook his head, and couldn't help smiling. :No. Not important. Trisha Mustang is one of the Amestrian State Alchemists that are here helping with the war. She and her husband are old acquaintances of mine. I'm sure I've mentioned them.:

There was, thankfully, a hint of recognition in her eyes, and she relaxed just the tiniest bit. Gavril hoped she was relieved. That bode well for him. :You have.: She hesitated then, before nodded. :Yes, tea would be lovely.:

There was a minute of awkward quiet as Gavril poured the tea and added honey the way she had always taken her tea, to the precise amount. Since she didn't correct him, he assumed he had gotten it correct.

:Thank you,: she said as she sat down in the recently vacated seat.

Gavril took it as a signal to sit as well. So much for passionate reunions. He was bursting to find out what she was here for, but he knew that pushing her or rushing the conversation would only complicate things. Darya hated to be rushed or pressed. She would tell him when she was ready.

Ready turned out to be most of the way through the first cup of tea. :Thank you,: she said at last. :It was a long trip.:

:Did you come with the Cretan journalists?: Gavril asked, as he remembered speaking with them earlier that day after their arrival. He hadn't seen anyone else who had come in with the small caravan of supplies and munitions.

Darya nodded. :Yes. I… well, this is going to sound incredibly foolish… but I just needed to… to see you.:

She was blushing, and Gavril immediately understood. Darya did not know entirely why she was here herself. The woman who planned every evening, every important dinner, even every family excursion to the minutest detail and perfection, had come all the way out here to see him, and she wasn't entirely sure _why._

:I've missed you, Snowlily,: the words fell out of his mouth, and he went with it. If he couldn't tell her how he felt now, then there was no hope, and he still wasn't quite ready to end it, not with a sign that she might still care enough to try again. :Both of you, so very much.:

:I've missed you, too.: That admission alone was a huge improvement over the reaction he had been expecting. In the past, it would have been some stinging remark about how funny a way he had of showing it, not talking to them for months. At least, this time, there were strong extenuating circumstances. Darya set her cup and saucer down. :Besides that I… well I think you're doing the right thing. I know, I've always complained when you put your government work before our family, but even I can tell you're doing this for the good of Drachma, for the good of everyone except yourself.:

:Well, to be fair, they do want to make me their leader,: he couldn't help pointing out with a weak smile.

Darya, more's the miracle, smiled back just as tentatively. :Well they aren't doing a very good job of showing their gratitude then. You look terrible.:

He supposed he must at that. Almost all of his clear marks of age had come on him after she left him, when all he had focused on was his work, and tried to put the pain of her leaving out of his mind as they worked out the quiet drama of their separation at a time when a full divorce would have been disadvantageous to both of them. He was grayer, more lined… he had been heavier, but months of being besieged and his near-death experience had eaten away at that. :That's on me.:

:I know.: Her expression finally softened into something more familiar, with a caring concern. :I saw you on the television sometimes, after we left.:

:I don't blame you… for leaving, I mean,: Gavril admitted then. :We both had different expectations, and I couldn't give you or Amylla the time you needed from me. Or rather, I couldn't make myself make that choice to step back from my work, and it's cost me the most precious people in my life. They've been incredibly lonely years.:

:There's no one else in all of Drachma who's interested in potentially being the next First Lady of Drachma?: Darya quipped, disbelieving.

:As you pointed out, I'm not much of a catch these days, even with that to offer,: Gavril replied wryly. :Even if they were, I don't want anyone else. Despite everything, I still love you, Darya. Even if I wanted to stop, I wouldn't know how. If I could drop everything and run off with you tonight, I would.:

:But, you can't.:

Yet oh how he wished he could. :No,: he acknowledged, :I can't. I've pledged my life to these people, to _our_ people…to making Drachma a safe and prosperous place where families are safe, and the next generations can grow up free of the mess we've been living in. I want my daughter to be able to live safely in her home country and be proud of it. Amylla didn't ask for any of this. None of them did. None of _us_ did. I don't know why it's me, but I was put in a position where I can enact huge amounts of change, hopefully for the betterment of everyone. If I walked out on that, and abandoned everything, then I wouldn't be able to look my daughter in the face, and tell her that her father was a worthless coward who cared more for his own desires than the needs of millions, including her.:

Darya sat there, fiddling with the edge of the napkin in her hand. :I know, Gav, and…I'm finally starting to understand that. I don't want you to be torn between us and all of Drachma. If there were more men like you, all of this might never have happened. I thought I knew what it meant to be the wife in a wealthy noble family whose business was government. I was wrong.:

:And I'm sorry I couldn't be the type of husband you needed.: His heart sank slightly. The tenor of this conversation was not turning the direction he wanted, even if it was a little more what he had expected. :I really am, Dar. You deserve more and, if there's anything I can do in my power to make you happy, ask it of me.:  
Then he braced himself, waiting for the words that might end it all. This was her chance. If she wanted a clean break, it was hers to command.

:Don't die.:

Startled, he stared at her, unsure quite how to respond. :That wasn't in my plan.:

:I'm serious,: Darya replied, more fervently than anything else she had said since arriving. :If you want to make me happy, survive, and kick every Zinovek and Zinovek sympathizer out of the government. Save our homeland. If this is what you were meant to do, then succeed, so we can come home again. Win, so we have a chance to figure all of this out, because _in the middle of a war_ seems like a terrible time to try and re-evaluate our relationship.:

:I…agree.: Tentatively he reached out, and was rewarded by the fact she did not pull away when he took her hands in his. :I have to admit, when I saw you at the door, I thought you had just gotten tired of waiting for the Zinoveks to get out of the way so we could…end things.:

Darya looked startled, then horrified. :Do you really think I would have travelled several hundred miles to sign divorce papers?:

:After some of the fights we had… I considered it, yes. I can't even say I might not deserve it.:

Her grip tightened in his. :I don't know how we can make it work,: she continued more softly. :I really don't know how, or if, not when we don't even know what shape the country will be in the next time I see you, or if I'll see you, or if you'll be the President of some new country all together. I guess that's really what I came to say then, isn't it? Don't worry about us, right now. Worry about Drachma. Our personal problems can wait until the bigger issues are dealt with, and then we can figure out what's best for Amylla…and for you and I.:

While that meant nothing had really changed, it made all the difference in the world to Gavril because he knew how hard it had been for Darya to admit that there was something Gavril cared about as much as he cared about her, and possibly more, and that was his duty to his nation. She wasn't promising they would be together, but just that he had her blessing to do what needed to be done without worrying that it would be the death-knell. She would wait a little longer, and lines of communication were at least open. :Thank you,: he squeezed her hands more tightly. :I hope you know how much this means to me. I could never have gotten this far without you. Even now, you are my inspiration.:

:Gav… I really don't know what to say.:

:And all I have are all the words I regret not saying enough. I wish we had more time, to put things right. How long will you be here?: he asked, realizing that it might be no time at all. She shouldn't stay here, where it was dangerous, but he desperately wanted to be near her, in whatever capacity she would allow. It had been so long since they had been in a room together or spoken at all.

:Four days,: she replied. :The empty caravan of supply trucks is returning to Creta in four days. Otherwise I have to wait for the next one… presuming they are able to get through.:

Who knew what could happen between now and then. Gavril nodded. :I wish it were longer, but it's dangerous here. If anything happened to you… well, Amylla needs you. Still, you'll be here for a couple of days. Do you have rooms yet?:

:I was told they would set up a spare room for me on one of the other floors,: she replied, looking contrite.

The fact that no one had even batted an eye at that must not have gone unnoticed. Despite trying to keep it quiet, Gavril was certain that pretty much all of Drachma knew they were married still in name only. Living in Petrayevka, he had gotten used to it. Apparently, having gone back home, Darya had been spared the regular looks and rumors. :If that's what you like, I'm sure they'll have something suitable.: _Or you could stay with me,_ he thought, but could not bring himself to say aloud. He wasn't sure he had the right to ask anymore.

:I'm sure it will be fine,: Darya replied. :I was prepared to sleep in a tent if need be.:

Given he was certain that Darya had never been camping in her entire life, that was saying something. :I would never leave you to sleep in a tent in this weather,: he objected.

She smiled. :Thank you, I appreciate that.:

A silence fell between them, as if between what had needed to be said, and what remained unsaid there was a gap of unclear territory. One thing was clear though, one of them would have to reach across it. :Have you eaten?: he asked, realizing it was quite possible she hadn't since her arrival.

:I… did.: Darya grimaced slightly. :They fed us in the mess tent.:

Gavril couldn't help chuckling at her expression. While he would never have considered her snobbish, Darya had never really lived a _common_ life, or wished to. :Well, if you'd like something more to your tastes, there's a café down the street that's open late. It's nothing fancy, but it's better than military food. My treat, of course.:

He had surprised her. Her eyes widened ever so slightly. :I would like that. I tried but… the food was pretty terrible.:

:Military food is generally pretty terrible, though I can tell you it's far better than severe rationing.: Gavril stood, and since he was still holding her hands, she stood with him. :I'll get my coat and we'll go.:

It was only with extreme reluctance that he let go of her hands. Thankfully his coat was hanging by the door. The Lieutenant was still standing there when he opened it. :I'll be out for the rest of the evening,: he told him. :If anyone needs me, have them leave a message here.:

:Yes, Sir.:

Gavril offered Darya his arm, feeling a little thrill of hope as she took it. :Shall we go?:

Darya nodded. :I'm ready.:


	59. Chapter 59

**December 13** **th** **, 1990**

Morning fog lay thick over everything; the town, the army, and the mountain pass. If not for the sound of the river roaring by and down the rapids that tumbled down to the valley beyond and below, it would have been possible to think that instead of a pass, there was just a wall of rocks and ice.

Sara stood along the top of the city wall, which was the best viewpoint to look out over the military encampment, and the longest expanse of the highway they were controlling. Her hands cupped around a mug of thick, dark coffee; she was grateful now for the winter-weight blue wool of Amestrian Northern military uniforms designed for this weather. She was also grateful for having all of her limbs, and no exterior auto-mail. Thanks to its internal nature, the metal parts of her knee did not react to the cold as severely as full auto-mail limbs. Her knee ached, but it was a dull, persistent throbbing that was minimized by the warmth of her clothes.

Beside her, Cal stood in a similar stance, wool-swathed, holding his coffee, though he looked grumpier than her, and the way he shifted his weight stiffly told her his auto-mail—even swapped out for cold-weather—was hurting him. Not that he said anything, which only told her it was probably pretty bad. Like her father, Cal was more prone to griping when it was only irritating.

It was just past dawn, and there wasn't actually a meeting scheduled until mid-morning. After weeks of planning, and training, there was little to do besides keep sharp and wait. A new dusting of snow covered everything, and the peace of the scene ran directly contrary to the fact she was looking down at a military force, with an enemy out of site beyond.

"There was an intelligence report late last night," Cal commented softly. Even then it seemed to carry in the empty fog. "It said reinforcements were rolling in under the cover of darkness, including more well-armored tanks that move faster than anything previously reported."

"How much faster?"

"Several kilometers per hour. Not much compared to other vehicles, but faster than our tanks."

"Something to keep in mind when they end up in range of each other." Sara filed the information away. The Drachmans would deal with the strategy for taking that speed into account. All the alchemists had to do was stop the things, and a few kilometers speed difference did not mean much against alchemy. "Have you and Rapid figured out how to freeze radiator fluid inside a vehicle while it's running yet?" It was one of the many techniques they had been brainstorming and testing with their available time.

Cal nodded. "It takes much less energy when they aren't running, or are idling, but it can be done. The problem is that it's not all that effective at-distance while they're moving. Also, not every radiator fluid in Drachma is exactly the same. Turns out to keep the water from freezing, a lot of them use different mixes of cheap alcohol."

"And they don't have a problem with the soldiers drinking their fluids?" Sara quipped, wondering at just how troublesome it might be to have that much liquor around tired soldiers.

"There are additional additives that make it poisonous," Cal elaborated. "All the soldiers know this. Apparently, decades ago, when they first started using tanks and vehicles in war, they had that problem."

A brutal but efficient solution. Sara cringed. "I'm sure that discouraged people quickly. Anything besides the tanks we should be concerned about?"

"While they couldn't see much in the dark, the report estimates an additional ten-thousand soldiers, and an entire convoy of supply trucks. I'd place bets on us seeing some action before the week is up."

"I won't take that bet," Sara replied, "because I agree with you."

"Mark this date on the books, then," Cal quipped, sipping his coffee. "I—do you hear that?"

Sara didn't ask _what._ She stopped, listening, and almost at once heard the mechanical whine Cal was talking about in the distance. A mechanical whine that sounded familiar, but shouldn't be there, and the rhythmic buzz that told her what was coming as it grew quickly louder. There were two of them. "Planes!" Horror burned in her core as her hand went straight into her pocket for her radio. Each alchemist had one trained to a frequency the military had assigned for them. "This is Twilight to all Liondragons," she barked, using the codename the Drachmans had given them on seeing the symbol on their watches, "Twilight to Liondragons, Report! Enemy inbound and coming in high. Use Plan Four."

That was all she had time for as the frighteningly familiar whistle of falling ordnance passed her ears, and part of the camp before them erupted in flames and debris.

She vaguely heard the very-alert reports of alchemists confirming orders before another one dropped, missing any critical targets but taking out a row of tents near the very edge of the encampment. Destructive, but their aim might not be all that accurate.

The morning quiet was shattered, and the sounds of shouting and alarms going off filled the air as Sara abandoned her coffee on the edge of the wall and smacked her hands together, grateful for the transmutation circles carefully stitched on all of her fresh new gloves.

Cal was pelting for the stairs, but for her work, it was better to be up here on the wall where she could possibly see the enemy. Even if not, she didn't need to go anywhere to manipulate air, or light. She could do both right here.

She pulled as much energy to her as she could handle, and whipped up the air around her into a loose whirlwind that grew quickly, spinning out wider and wider, up into the sky. At the best, she might be fortunate enough to knock the planes off course. Causing them to crash would be ideal, but even driving them away would be enough for the moment if that was all she could do.

Below her, she knew Trisha had found a place to make a stand for her own transmutations, because suddenly the air was alive with bright, piercing beams of light that cut through the quickly-shredding and dissipating fog bank like bolts—incredibly powerful searchlights out of pure alchemical energy.

Another whistle, and this time the explosion was close enough that Sara could sense the heat, and the force of the explosion blasted wind past her face, despite the distance. It slammed part of the wall, collapsing it into the city.  
How many could eat plane drop? Sara had no way of knowing for certain. Their knowledge of what planes the Drachmans had built was outdated, and based on what Roy and Ted had seen before destroying the original factories. None of what they had described included easily-dropped external bombs.

A glint of steel caught above made her change the direction of her wind in an instant, striking with a sharper, more directed wind instead of the general clearing. Aiming just ahead of the plane, she had the satisfaction of watching it veer sharply off-course.

Plan Four was not one Sara had honestly expected them to need to use except maybe for taking out tank rounds or missiles fired from the ground. Still, she was glad they had prepared it. While she and Trisha handled identifying the enemy in the air, pinpointing them, and the initial attack, the rest of the team was also in action.  
Marble was also on the offensive, using alchemical energy to fling small boulders into the air. Having trained to hit flying targets this way, she helped distract and divert the enemy. They could not ignore her rocks and be safe in the air.

Whitewater, Rapid, Molecule, and Live Wire were the defensive squad in this scenario, putting out fires with water, and healing the wounded. Even focused on targeting the planes in the air, Sara could feel the energies being pulled by the other alchemists around her. The army could handle the destruction. It was the alchemists' job to keep the enemy from causing more while they did so, or until they got to their own defensive weaponry. They had some fairly powerful guns that could hit a low-flying craft or missile possibly, if the gunners were good enough. They'd had minimal practice however, because it had never been necessary.

Which meant it was up to them.

Except that the Zinovek planes weren't going to give them the opportunity. After only a few minutes of dodging, and one more dropped bomb—this one directly into the industrial center of the city itself—they veered off, vanishing back into the clouds that remained beyond the pass. At least one of them was smoking out the tail, so it had taken some kind of damage.

Less than ten minutes after the attack had started, it was finished. Sara could feel herself sweating inside her wool uniform, and was grateful that wet wool continued to generate heat, or she'd be freezing quickly. Panting, she let the energy stop flowing, and took a good look at the mess below in both directions.

The town's fire department had arrived at the scene of the fire, and the damage to the wall, while devastating to the wall, had not fallen into a residential district. At this hour of the morning that was a blessing.

Which meant Sara could focus on outside the wall. She hurried back to the internal staircase, then down, coming out in the streets near the gate. No one even looked at her as she walked briskly out into the military camp. People were running in both directions, towards the damage zones, but Sara conserved what little energy she had left. Running on her knee wasn't something she wanted to push, tired as she was now. Her alchemy might still be needed in other areas.

The nearest area of destruction was the one in the middle of the camp, so she headed there first. "Liondragons report!" she barked into her radio.

"Whisper here. Both planes seem to have cleared out of range," Trisha's voice came through first. "Nothing is coming up the pass so it looks like that might have been the entire attack."

"Rapid reporting," Ryan Wilkes' voice came through immediately following. "Fires are out, but we've got casualties. Half the third company camp's in ruins."

Moments later, Sara came around a corner and could see for herself. Dozens of tents, flattened, destroyed, flung into the distance with a smoking crater in the earth in the center. The shouts she heard were organized chaos—officers barking orders as men and women pulled their comrades out of the wreckage. The first thing she noticed was that there were more soldiers standing than not, and it occurred to her that the nearest Mess tent was still standing, and many of the occupants of these tents, despite the early hour, would have been eating breakfast.

She moved towards the nearest unaided moan for help, and pulled the flap of smoking canvas up to reveal a young soldier, maybe in his twenties, pinned to the earth by a splinter of wood that had caught his uniform leg, with most of his tent on top of him. :I've got this,: she told him, bending down long enough to sketch the quickest circle in the dirt. In a moment, she had used alchemy to push the tent out of the way and propel the wooden steak out of the ground. Immediately, the part of his leg that had been run through bled freely, and Sara diverted her transmutation to the body. She wasn't a healer, but she could at least keep him from bleeding out immediately while she applied a tourniquet made from a ripped shred of his own tent canvas.

No one had come to assist by the time she finished. Assessing him as safe to move, she put an arm under him and helped him to his feet. :Lean on me,: she ordered. He grimaced, nodded, and complied. Together they hobbled towards the infirmary, which was not far but had not been in range of the explosion. Sara wondered at the fact the crater and debris field weren't larger. Maybe the bomb had sunk further into the earth, and that had kept more of the explosion in the ground, or maybe they just didn't have the ability to make something bigger. In either case, she'd be grateful.

:Thank you,: the young man said as she left him with medical staff, and headed back out again.

By now, enough time had passed that a semblance of order had been restored. While many of the soldiers in the Western Drachman army were new, they were not easily scared, and they could take orders. The living had mostly been retrieved and were being moved for treatment if possible, or stabilized in place so they could be.

She assisted in moving two more injured because she caught up with Whitewater and Live Wire as the younger woman finished a healing transmutation on a terrified looking young soldier whose leg made Sara wince empathetically. It wasn't gone, but it might still require amputation. The medics standing by moved him to a stretcher, and hurried off towards the infirmary.

Everyone was grime-streaked and exhausted. Live Wire wobbled a little as she stood.

"How many have you healed?" Sara asked.

Finn looked up at her. "Seven so far."

"Go rest and get something to eat."

For a moment the girl looked like she was going to object, but a sharp look from Cal immediately checked her. "Yes, Twilight." She turned and headed towards the alchemists' tents, which were in a different part of the camp entirely.

"Where are Rapid and Marble?"

"I sent them to help finish clean-up of the second and third blast sites," Cal answered. "Rapid's soaking the other camp, and Marble's helping shore up and reconstruct the wall." He shook his head. "Planes. We should have anticipated planes."

"We did," Sara pointed out. "We just didn't anticipate them to have rebuilt this quickly. It was always a possibility." Just one she hadn't wanted to have to try and face for herself. "I'd say we did better this time than when they hit you south of Petrayevka, except that we had more men to lose here."

Cal pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his neck and forehead. Like her, he was sweaty from exertion. "I don't disagree, I just hate being caught off guard like this. It means we're going to have to start keeping a much more active watch, and we'll need more than one plan of attack in case they get better at dodging what we have now that they've experienced it. We can't assume they'll give up using them."

No. They could count on the enemy continuing to wear them down. Damage was damage, and if they had two planes now, it only stood to reason they might have more, or more coming later. _I hope our little secret project at home is going well._ Amestris might need war planes even sooner than anticipated. This would _definitely_ be in the next report wired home.

Though the news might beat the report depending on what the journalists covering the war put out on the airwaves. Sara had a feeling that was going to be another conversation had this afternoon. What should be aired, and what needed to be suppressed for the sake of military success? Sara wasn't a fan of suppressing information from the public, but sometimes things needed to remain classified, even if only for a marked period of time.

"How's the city?" Cal startled her by asking, a worried look on his face.

Of course, Gloria and Alexei were here now. "Headquarters is fine," Sara assured him. "I could see that from the wall. The areas that got hit were industrial. They should have been mostly empty of people this early, so there won't be many casualties, if any, outside of any injuries earned in cleaning it up. The fire department and police seemed to have it in hand when I last looked." Though his question made her turn and look. There was still smoke rising from the city, but it was thin, as if the fires themselves were mostly out, and remains were smoldering. "Alchemists' meeting in an hour?" she suggested. They needed to go over what had just happened in detail, and make other plans accordingly.

"Roger that." Cal pulled out his own radio, and gave the command across the frequency. Then he put it away. "I'm going to check the city and see if they could use any alchemical assistance. I'll meet you there."

Sara watched him go, then turned and headed towards the command tent to check in with the other officers and give a report.

The Command tent was in chaos; though it was tightly controlled, organized chaos. Voices overlapped into a nearly incomprehensible babble as various officers pointed at the maps spread across the table. In this case, organizational camp maps, as they took apart not only the unanticipated battle that had taken place almost without any soldiers being involved except those who were wounded, but where to route the people who were now tentless for shelter and food in the immediate future.

Sara stepped up to the table and took a moment to just listen, gathering information based on the discussions going on around her. Casualties were, so far, not as high as they could be given the bad aim of the second bomb, and the fact that—as she had hoped—almost eighty-five percent of the soldiers that used those tents had been at breakfast or using the restroom and shower facilities set up at regular intervals throughout the camp. The death count was currently up to fifteen, with at least two dozen more injured, some seriously, but it could have been much higher.

:Fortunately, thanks to our Amestrian allies, it wasn't: Gavril Mihalov—looking far more disheveled than usual, having clearly dragged on only pants and a shirt that was not tucked in before dragging on his coat and running over—spoke up, nodding to Sara. At that moment, she had everyone's full attention. :In fact, I dare say that without them, we'd be looking at a slaughter.:

:We were just doing what you asked us here to do, President Mihalov,: Sara replied matter-of-factly. :Fortunately, we've had experience with knocking out objects in the air with alchemy. All of our people are accounted for and uninjured, and we plan to have at least one of _us_ with the ability to strike at planes at range on watch at all times from here on out. It's only good fortune that General Fischer and I were in a position to both see and hear their initial arrival this morning. A few minutes earlier could have been a disaster. In the meantime, we will work on a coordinated plan with the artillery battalions to work on more effective and wider-spread attacks on enemy aircraft."

The Captain present from the artillery units nodded.

There wasn't much else to report, and as soon as Sara was done, she excused herself and stepped back out into the morning light. The fog that she had scattered had cleared away into a partly-cloudy day, with rare peeks of blue sky.

The alchemists had the use of a smaller unit command tent for meetings, and that was where she found everyone except Live Wire and Whitewater when she entered an hour later, having changed clothes and eaten a second breakfast to make up for having used up more than the entire first one in transmutations.

Her daughter handed her a fresh cup of coffee, which Sara accepted gratefully. "Where's Live Wire?" she asked as she took a seat in the nearest available chair. There was no reason to stand on ceremony at the moment.

"She went back to the infirmary," Marble—Misty Parkwaller—reported from the other end of the table, where she was braiding her thick, freshly-washed hair back into a neat braid. "She said she wanted to make sure everyone who needed her abilities got treated."

Sara refrained from shaking her head, though she wanted to. That girl was going to use herself up that way, even if it was noble. "Did she eat at least?"

Marble nodded. "We all did."

Sara looked over at Wren Muniez, the Molecule alchemist, whom she hadn't seen yet this morning, even though she knew Muniez was on the defensive team. She, like the two water alchemists, was working on the fuel-freezing project, since quick temperature manipulation was one of her specialties. "Report, Molecule."

The dark-haired, warm-skinned woman sat up from where she had been laying back in a chair. "Twilight, Ma'am. The south-west crater area has been cleared and Rapid and I repaired everything we could that had enough base material to be transmuted back into functional tents and vehicles. The central crater is cleared, and they are under orders to sort the rest of the parts there for usability into piles of the appropriate materials for us to repair later." Given that was a much larger pile, Sara could understand why it would take longer.

"Good." She turned back to Marble. "What's the situation with the wall?"

Misty set down her own cup of coffee. "It's repaired for now. There wasn't enough material left to fully restore the wall, but it's not in danger of collapsing, and I was able to use the material to transmute much of what was blown up back together. The wall looks complete from the outside, but it's about two feet thinner on the inside in that area, and the walkway at the top isn't what I'd call roomy. That said, it won't collapse under anyone."

"Rapid."

"All fires are out, naturally," Ryan Wilkes grinned. "We were able to wring most of the water back _out_ of the tents or send it deeper into the ground so it's not a muddy mess either, and the tent canvas should be dry enough for people to sleep in again tonight once the tents are repaired or replaced."

Trisha's report included information from the city. Civilian casualties were numbered at two unfortunate janitors in one of the factories. There was a lot of structural damage and debris, but the loss of human life was thankfully minimal. "Unsurprisingly, the reporters from all three countries want to speak with us about our part in this morning's defense."

"You mean because we were the _only_ defense?" Rapid snorted.

"Circumstantial, and fortunate for them," Sara commented with a stern look. The last thing she needed was a cocky young fool mouthing off at the wrong moment in front of journalists. There were moments Rapid reminded her a little too much of Cal in his early days. "So be politically astute and don't say it like that. In fact, unless you're specifically addressed, leave the answers to Whitewater and I. If for no other reason than we both speak all three languages and we can avoid mistranslations and misunderstandings."

Rapid looked put out, but no one else seemed bothered. Probably they were relieved to not be expected to give interviews.  
"There's not much chance of us keeping the fact the Drachmans are using _aircraft_ to drop weapons on us for long, not with any kind of truth in reporting," Sara continued. "That doesn't mean we want the world dwelling on that fact. We've had hot air balloons for a long time, and no one will ever forget the zeppelins from that freak incursion from the Gate decades ago, though none of us here were alive for that." Not even her or Cal. Her parents hadn't even been _married._ "We focus on the facts of how we diverted the attack and drove them off before they could do more damage, and that we have plans to counter them in the future. That's all we say, so _when_ the enemy intercepts any news reports—because they will—we don't give away anything that might be used against us."

Her instruction elicited nods of consent. "All right. From now on, one of us will be on watch at all hours. The alchemist on watch does not have to be someone with long-range alchemical capabilities, though we'll take the hours when we're not likely to have artillery back-up quickly. This afternoon, we will be teaching the artillery how to time and aim their shots to better hit airborne targets moving quickly with this kind of maneuverability. I'd like everyone present, for maximum flexibility when it comes to targets, and because any ideas you might come up with, I want on hand for consideration and testing." She paused and sipped her coffee before continuing. It was about to be an even longer day. "Before that, we repair everything we can. Now, before _that_ , I want any ideas you've had on what we can do to keep this from happening again."

* * *

By midday, Gloria was smudged, streaked, and exhausted, but she would not have traded a moment of her choices in how to spend the day. She and Alexei had been fast asleep when the explosions started, and it was over fast enough that even rushing into clothes, grabbing basic gear and hurtling outside, it had been over almost before either of them hit the streets.

Though there had been plenty to do in the aftermath, and despite the role of a journalist to report facts, they could not dispassionately stand by and watch, nor did Gloria think anyone would have really expected them to. Shoving into the chaos, she and Alexei had helped with what they could in clearing the debris and fires within the city, and afterwards they had talked to the local fire and police services, witnesses to the attacks, and then moved on out into the military camp, doing interviews, pausing to help where an extra hand was needed, and then moving on and doing their best to stay out of the way.

An impromptu press conference late in the afternoon allowed them, and the other reporters, a chance to ask questions of Gavril Mihalov, the Generals of the Western Drachman army, and Sara Heimler and Cal Fischer. They asked about the attacks, and the alchemists' defense, and dutifully took down notes and recordings as they spoke about how the military did have a plan going forward for dealing with the new threat, though they could not of course give that information to the public.

After that, they were dismissed. The agenda for the rest of the day was set, they were told, to what it would have been if the attack hadn't happened. That meant that aside from dinner, they had no other official obligations until the evening broadcast.

Gloria wasn't ready to simply go back to their rooms. Not even with pages of notes to type up, and rolls of film to label and store until they had a chance to develop them. Thankfully, the reporters had all been given the use of a large basement room to use as a dark room, so they wouldn't have to wait months to send anything out.

The recorded interviews would be played tonight over the radios and news stations of Western Drachma, and to the resistance, as well as reaching out to Creta, Kartos, and Amestris, who had all agreed to connect television wires and relay radio coming out of Western Drachma for the purposes of international news coverage.

"We should still get something to eat and get cleaned up before we go on the air tonight," Alexei pointed out as they wandered back through the camps that were already being rebuilt.

Gloria nodded. There was nothing else they could do now to be helpful that wasn't just as easily done by another pair of more experienced hands. "All right. I could use a shower."

"We both could." There was a subtle question in his tone, and Gloria just smiled and took his hand.  
The walk back to their rooms was uneventful. Thankfully there was plenty of hot water, and by the time they were both clean and dressed for that night's broadcast—which would be sent out from the regional television station, which was fortunately located here in town—it was still early evening, but already dark.

"Do you want to eat next door, or try out the café?" Alexei asked as he used a garment brush to clean off their coats before they put them back on.

"Let's try the café," Gloria decided after a moment. Who knew when they would have time, and she thought it would be quieter than the crowded dining room where Mihalov's staff were constantly going in and out.

As she was putting on her coat, there was a knock at the door. Alexei answered it to find one of the military guards from the front door standing there. :Can I help you?:  
The guard nodded. :I have been asked to deliver a message. There's a soldier downstairs who says he is a Mr. Yasha Deviatovski, a relative of yours. His military identification says the same.:

Gloria recognized the name. That was one of Alexei's relatives she had met during their trip last year, an uncle.

:I know him,: Alexei replied excitedly. :Please have him wait. We're on our way down and we will meet him.:

:Yes, sir.: The soldier headed downstairs.

Alexei turned to look at Gloria, his eyes wide and hopeful. :If Uncle Yasha is here, I wonder who else might be.:

Gloria reached out and took his hand. The last they had heard from any of Alexei's relatives had been months ago, when a letter had somehow gotten through to his parents saying they had fled their home town in the valley and headed West, and were safe in an undisclosed location in the mountains. :Well, let's go find out.:

The man waiting downstairs was definitely the one Gloria had met. Middle-aged but generally fit, he looked a lot like his brother—Alexei's father—and thus similar to Alexei, if a little more wrinkled, a couple of inches shorter, and with a little less hair.

Alexei grabbed the man up in a bear hug. :Uncle Yasha!:

Yasha, chuckling, hugged him back with equal ferocity. :Alexei!: he finished the hug and stepped back. :The word around camp was that you were here. One of the other men told me the Amestrian reporters had my last name, though they were skeptical. I had to come see if it was really you for myself.:

:Well it's me,: Alexei assured him, :And Gloria. You remember Gloria.:

Yasha's grin widened even further. :Of course I remember this vibrant treasure.: He bowed over Gloria's hand. :Congratulations to you both are in order I see. Good. I think Mama would have disowned Alexei if he had let you get away.:

:Thank you.: Gloria hoped the flush of pleasure was hidden under the flush of cold cheeks. :It's nice to see you again, Yasha. We were just about to go to dinner, would you like to join us?:

:Well, I ate in the mess, but I'll join you for dessert,: Yasha agreed readily. :You can fill me in on everything we've been missing out on not being able to get family news from your folks, and I can pass it on to the family in my next letter.:

:So no one else is here with you?: Alexei asked as they headed down the street.

Yasha shook his head. :No. Most of the family's in a little town south-west of here, Tarokova. It was a dying mining town before the war started. Now every house is filled with families who fled the valley and managed to escape before the Zinovek army took control of the town. Nearly a quarter of our town is crammed in there plus a few from others we picked up along the way. Folks who ran with their supplies from businesses in trucks have set up shop, just changed where they get supplies from to local markets. It's a functional town. Things are tight, but it's a living, and it's better than living under Genn Savahin.: Yasha scowled at the name, the twist of his words sounded as if he were spitting on the man. He paused to hold the café door open for both Alexei and Gloria before following them in. :The important thing for now is the family is safe. Well, enough about that,: he changed subjects as they took a nearby table. His smile returned. :Tell me everything about the proposal, and the wedding.:

The proposal. Gloria laughed. :Well, we may only have time for the short version. There was a riot and a coup in the middle.:

* * *

 _I'm never going to convince her I can make her and Amylla a priority,_ Gavril lamented to himself as he walked back towards his headquarters in the dark of evening. He had been ripped from sleep that morning by the unanticipated air attack, and gone pelting from the building half-dressed with his aides scampering behind him. Over the course of the day he'd been in meeting after meeting, some military strategy, other updates on the work within the city and the camps to repair the damage, and the lives lost. He had even spent some time observing the alchemists and artillery units working together on additional training, and gotten a detailed report on the alchemists' plans from Sara Heimler. He thanked her, and the other alchemists, profusely again for their being the only line of defense that had been any use against the planes. Without them, this would have gone far worse. Not that it wasn't going to get worse. Surely the Zinoveks would try again.

At some point the rest of his clothes had appeared, and food and beverages at his hands without him having to go hunting for them. It was the benefit of his position, but he had refused to stand back and play bureaucrat while everyone else worked to save and repair what they could. He was still impressed that, thanks to the alchemists, the damaged camps and vehicles had already been repaired and put back up, with only a 25% loss of materials. That didn't help the lives of the people lost, but it was an incredible feat still. Gavril could not imagine why Drachma had not ever tried to employ alchemists in this fashion. If they had, however, history might have turned out very differently.

He went inside, and up to the room Darya had been given for the duration of her stay, only to find it empty. His heart sinking, he went to his own rooms. Darya wasn't the sit around all day type either, which meant she was probably out helping with the clean-up efforts herself. He closed the door, and leaned against it, eyes closed for a moment as he let out a deep, therapeutic sigh.

:It's been quite a day.:

Startled, he turned around. Darya was in one of the chairs, dressed casually—for her—in slacks and a fine-knit cashmere sweater. There was a covered plate—dinner he presumed—on the table, along with a carafe of water, and a bottle of wine.

:It has,: he agreed, trying to control his quickly shifting emotions. :I'm sorry.:

:For letting Savahin's machines drop explosives on us without warning?: she asked, her voice surprisingly calm. She smiled slightly. :It's not your fault, Gavril. Thank goodness your Amestrian allies were here.:

:I've thanked them profusely.: He stepped away from the door, removing his coat as he went. :I mean I'm sorry I didn't come check on you sooner.:

Darya nodded, as if she had expected him to say something of the sort. He wasn't sure what to make of her calm in this situation. :Well you knew I was safe, seeing as you knew I was here,: she pointed out sensibly. :I don't expect you to drop _everything_ for me. Frankly, until I arrived, I wasn't even sure you'd want to talk to me at all. You've been putting your whole being into this, like you always do. Now, sit.: Even in that tone, it had an air of command. :The staff brought your dinner up. I hope you still like pelmeni and beef cabbage soup.:

His mood brightened slightly. Both had been favorites as a boy, even though they were often considered peasant food. They were staples of Drachman cuisine, and eating at all classes of society, though the recipes and quality of ingredients varied. :Did you by chance have a hand in that?: he asked as he joined her, taking the seat she pointed at without objecting.

:I _did_ stick my nose in the pantry and make a few pointed suggestions,: Darya admitted.

:Well, thank you. I couldn't have asked for a better meal.: He uncovered the plate and the fresh hot smells of both wafted up, tickling his nose. :Or better company. Have you eaten?: He noticed there wasn't a second plate.  
:I ate earlier with the staff,: Darya admitted, :But I'll keep you company, and I haven't opened the wine yet.:

:So I see.: It would be nice to have her here, and Gavril was grateful she honestly did not seem slighted by his not rushing to her side when things went crazy. :After the day I've had, it will be most appreciated.:

:I thought it might.:  
:Not as much as I appreciate your understanding,: he added earnestly.

Darya shrugged her shoulders. :I told you, it's fine, and I mean it. I'm not upset. Though I will be if you don't eat that before it gets cold.:

Gavril chuckled. Whatever the future held, at least tonight would be a good one. :Yes, Ma'am.:


	60. Chapter 60

**December 16** **th** **, 1990**

Dawn had come too early. Gavril understood why the caravan was leaving in the near-dark hours of morning. Especially given the barrage a couple of days before. There was no telling when the Zinoveks would strike next. With planes they might choose to avoid the town and take aim at other targets; further civilian targets.

He stood in the cold, giving Darya one last hug, one last hand squeeze. :Take care on the trip back,: he murmured, aware others were waiting on them.

:I should be telling you that, here,: Darya objected, before reaching into her pocket and slipping a small piece of paper into his hands.

Puzzled, Gavril opened it to find an international phone number, and a postal address.

:The phone number and post box the Argyros family has been kind enough to provide me for the duration of our stay,: Darya explained. :If you can, call Amylla. She misses you still. If you really want us to be a family again, then reach out when you can. I won't keep you two apart.:

If he didn't want a divorce, he was going to have to prove he meant it about wanting them back and that it would be different. Gavril clutched the paper tightly, and tucked it carefully in his small notebook that he carried everywhere before tucking it back in his coat pocket. :Thank you. You'll hear from me as often as I can call or write. It may not be often enough… given the circumstances, but I will try.:

:I don't expect novels,: Darya assured him. :War is… an acceptable excuse, but in the light of everything happening now, I see things differently than I did before.: Then she leaned in and kissed him far, far too briefly. :Take care of yourself.:  
:You too, though I know you're better at it than I am. I'll try to call Amylla this week. I miss her, too.:

:She'll be thrilled.: Darya hesitated, then gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Before he could respond, she had turned and walked to the car.

Gavril watched her get into the vehicle, and the row of cars until they had all left the camp, and vanished down the road and out of sight. Then he turned and headed towards his first meeting of the morning, in the Amestrian corner of camp.

The Amestrian meeting tent was still mostly empty, save for Cal Fischer and coffee. Fischer looked up at Gavril with a strangely sympathetic smile. "So, were you able to woo your wife?"

It was an astute question, particularly given Gavril had made little mention of her being there to anyone, and certainly aside from the general knowledge that they were separated, had not spoken of the situation in general conversation. "I hope so."

Fischer nodded, as if it was the answer he'd expected. "I know I didn't get to see much of her, but she reminds me a little of my wife."

"How so?" Gavril asked curiously as he picked up a battered mug and poured himself some of the coffee.

"She could probably make a burlap sack look like an elegant fashion statement, for one thing." Fischer grinned over his cup. "She also gave me that sense of someone who knows her role in her world, excels at it, and is happiest when she can fulfill that role."

It was an incredibly accurate statement to precisely the core of what had made Darya happy in life, and probably a good part of what had attracted her to Gavril in the first place. She had been the perfect wife for an up-and-coming visionary politician. It was the rest of it she hadn't bargained for. "That does describe Darya.." Gavril had met Fischer's wife in Central, and spoken with her at dinner more than once. As he thought about it, he could see the similarities there. "How did you ever find the balance?" he asked Fischer.

"We almost didn't sometimes," the other man admitted. "Alyse _wanted_ me in that nice, mostly safer desk job in Central. I was always better at this," he gestured around them, "being out in the field, using my alchemy, getting into scrapes and out of them again. She's the nice girl with the quality upbringing. I accepted the job when it was offered _because_ it meant more time at home with her, and with our children. It took me a while to get to like it though." Then he snorted. "To be fair, most days I still don't like the paperwork part, but she does more for me than I could ever return to her in a dozen lifetimes, and it was worth it. Meeting each other's needs is a little bit compromise, and a little bit finding new options completely… and a whole lot of talking things through and seeing things from the other's perspective, which were not always my strongest skill set either. We had some rough patches. Thankfully it's been years since the last one. I'm not sure there's anything I wouldn't do to keep it from happening again."

"How do you keep duty from getting in the way?" Gavril knew himself, and he knew with what was coming it would be a long time before his time was his own to do with, but he wasn't entirely sure how much he could promise to Darya and Amylla either, even if he had the best of intentions.

"Delegate, and make the time. The duty will _always_ be there," Fischer replied in all seriousness, "but your family won't."

A lesson he had already learned. The question now was, how well had he learned it?

* * *

Lieutenant Rothschild tried not to be nervous as he sat in the cockpit of the first new, completed All-Amestrian Aircraft, which had just successfully passed its full pre-flight check and was ready to take off for its first long-distance flight. Test flights had all been successfully conducted out over the only strip of unoccupied countryside for miles, though his maiden flight was designed to align with Amestris' announcement to the public of the first ever flight program. The planes were being advertised entirely as cargo and personnel carriers to the public. After all, there was no longer any realistic way to keep pretending that no one had noticed them, or that people had been getting in-and-out of Drachma in nearly impossible times without explanation. The people were neither completely oblivious, nor that stupid. None of the combat capabilities would be discussed, as the specifics would remain classified, but the public needed something, and it made a good distraction.

Rothschild had been the obvious choice for the maiden flight, and he was honored. His position as the most experienced pilot besides Trisha Mustang, who was already in Drachma with their other plane, had made that a reasonable choice. This new plane was an improvement on that one, in his mind, and he knew they were still working to make further modifications and updates as they fine-tuned each plane.

His cargo for this run consisted mostly of supplies—both medical and alchemical mostly—and support personnel, including a couple more Alchemists, one of which was not even a combatant, but almost entirely trained in alkahestry, so they would have another healer. The air attack on the news had made it clear they could wait no longer, either to get in the air, or to provide more support. Rothschild just hoped he'd be able to land without getting shot at. The announcement would be coming out on the news the day after he took off, though it would be announced as leaving that day, so hopefully the Drachmans would be looking in the wrong piece of sky when he got there.

If not, the plane _did_ have low profile guns, and he had two soldiers on the plane trained to man them. With the little bit of experience they could get anyway. They were known for being good shots, and incredibly quick and accurate on the draw. That would have to do.

Two days, and they would hopefully be on the ground in Drachma. He hoped they could arrive before the Zinoveks could pull another destructive attack like the most recent one. _Hang on, the cavalry's on the way._

 **December 17** **th** **, 1990**

A combination of preparation and paranoia went a long way towards being ready for the next enemy attack. No one anticipated the Zinovek troops waiting overly long before sending their bomb-dropping planes out again for another strike. They had done serious damage before, and while most of it had been repaired, and the worst injuries treated, there had still been losses. A couple more attacks like that and they would be in serious trouble.

Cal just hoped their plans would be enough. While they had been able to minimize the damage of the surprise attack due to their training, prodigious use of restorative alchemy, and a lot of luck, he didn't want to rely on that last one to save the people they were here to protect, or themselves as he had no intention of dying in the near future.

While the first attack had come in the fog of early dawn, the second came in the evening, as soldiers rotated through their scheduled dinner periods in the Mess tents. The weather had taken a turn for the miserable, a warm-ish front bringing in with it freezing thundering storm of sleet instead of just snow. In an hour everything was icing over. His leg aching from the additional wet-cold, Cal tried to think of it as additional ammunition for his alchemy. His attempts at optimism weren't doing much for his mood, however. Neither was the rapid speed with which his dinner was cooling.

They were half-way through dinner when Molecule's voice crackled over the radio at his side, and Sara's across the table, shouting " _-cule to all Liondragons, requesting backup immediately!"_

Cal, and every other alchemist at the table, dropped their food and bolted for the entrance. Sara had her radio in hand and was barking a warning to the Drachman Generals more rapidly and with more instruction than Cal could have managed without having to think about it. As soon as they were outside, it was obvious where the planes were, and why Molecule was shouting. Even through the gray-frozen-sheets falling from the sky, the red-and-orange glow was evident. _The entire pass was on fire,_ the sound of whatever explosions had set it ablaze muffled and mixed with the onerous rolling thunder of the sleet storm.

Fire that somehow the drenching sleet was not putting out. In his mind, Cal rattled through all of the possible chemical reactions the Drachmans could have used to create a fire that reacted badly to water, and he didn't like any of them, or a fuel source that would provide enough fuel that it would keep burning anyway.

Unhindered by auto-mail—or age—Rapid was ahead of Cal, and in one horrifying moment, Cal realized the younger man had dropped to his knees, a water-proof oil-pastel stick in hand. If he transmuted without knowing what it was and hit the fire with regular water—

"Don't do it!" Cal shouted, and the moment that it took for Rapid to hesitate was enough for Cal to catch up. "It's not regular fire."

Rapid's eyes widened, then he nodded, understanding Cal's caution. "Then how do we put it out?"

"Suffocate it!" Trisha Mustang shouted as she kept running right past them.

"That is what I was going to suggest," Cal commented to Rapid, who snickered. "How are you with dirt?"

"Wet as this ground is, I think I'll be okay. Besides, Whisper taught us all the standard tricks." Rapid changed his circle, then slammed his hands into the ground.

It was less than two minutes from call to action, with alchemical energy everywhere. Cal could sense Twilight and Whisper sucking the air _away_ from the flames, which they were all able to confirm as highly chemical in nature despite Drachma's supposed lack of military alchemists. Marble and Rapid had a wall of muddy filth rolling down the hill towards the fire that was—Cal could now see—somehow moving _up_ the highway towards them. It wasn't moving quickly, but it was definitely being pushed from behind. Molecule was doing her best to rapidly drop the air temperature around the flames until there wasn't enough air left for them to suck from.

Cal's own alchemy joined the mud-wall crew, while Live Wire kept eyes on the sky for the rest of them. Hopefully her healing skills would be unneeded.

The wall of flames flickered, lowered, surged, fought, and began to lose ground. From behind him, Cal heard the first volley of tank rounds from their own side as they sailed over his head towards the enemy. Only when something beyond the line blew up did Cal realize that the artillery was aiming at whatever was _pushing_ the wall of fire.

The rolling wave of soggy muck finally caught up to the wall of flame, and the two collided in a spectacular _smush-hiss_ that could be heard through the storm, and the rumbling of the ground made it easily felt, even if it was difficult to see. Smothered, oxygen yanked away, the glow lessened, and the fire faltered.

His face was going numb from wet and cold, but Cal had to get closer to see what was going on, and what was behind that wall. Aside from vehicles, he would place bets that the enemy army was advancing. If they made it the few miles up to the opening of the pass, this would turn into an entirely different war very quickly. _Where are those planes?_ He felt the prickle on the back of his neck that always meant danger, but he could not sense where it might be coming from. Just instinct. So, he moved on instinct.

Sprinting the last dozen yards, he came to the edge of the river, jagged and rocky, just where it started to drop into the pass. Below him, the river became a roiling rage of white-plumed rapids, all the way down to the bottom of the pass and beyond. Not that he could see it now, but he had taken a very good, long look at it days ago. Pillars of sharp, broken rock jutted out at irregular intervals, and the water swirled and crashed and would toss and break anything that fell into it. The river was part of what made the pass work in their favor. It had carved the pass in the first place, eons ago, before wearing down its smaller channel after an avalanche that Cal had been told had been cleared a couple hundred years ago to make the road. The enemy couldn't spread out, and they had to be careful not to get too close to the edge. That meant that they could only move up the pass on the road, which was only four lanes…. Two tanks wide was the most that would fit at a time.

That was what Cal thought he could see through the sleet, as he peered through the falling darkness and tried to see past the fire.

A loud, rolling thunderclap overhead and a bolt of lightning that jumped in the clouds brought both a moment of visibility, and terror. There it was—the sound of plane engines. Glad he had his gloves on, Cal readied a transmutation. With the entire river below him, he could blast an aircraft out of the sky if he could get a shot.

Squinting up into the wet, he saw a shadow, like a ghost… a dragon of old… transmuting, he yanked at the raw power of the water, pulling with every bit of energy he could manage, and sent a geyser of it shooting right up into the sky, anticipating its direction and speed. Above him he heard a metal sheering squeal and the plane veered sharply. Whether he'd hit it or it had somehow partially avoided his blast he couldn't be sure, but he hoped that pilot was having a heart attack right now.

That seemed to have been the signal for everyone, or the timing was good because at that moment too-organized-to-be-natural lightning bolts began to lance from the sky, striking behind enemy lines. Despite the startling moment blindness, Cal could see now that they were right. Tanks and other well-armored military vehicles were lined up behind the flames, a row of tanks at the front rigged with what were basically gigantic snow plows, shoving the inferno in front of them.

The storm became unpredictable as Twilight and Whisper's alchemy wrought mayhem, creating small swirling vortexes that whipped up sleet-riddled tornadoes and threw them back at the enemy, and up at the planes, that Cal could still hear every so often above the racket, in rare split seconds of less noise.

Still, the whistle was his only warning before the world exploded in a brilliant burst of searing, painful heat, spinning air, and a sharp crack to the head that left him seeing spots before Cal felt himself plunge into breath-stealing ice that enfolded him, and sucked him under.

Tumbling, tossing, pain, his shoulder struck a rock, then he rolled and slammed into another, then for just a moment his head was above water and he took a ragged desperate gasp before being plunged down, and falling, pain spreading even as he went increasingly numb. _Don't panic, don't breathe, hold it….gotta stop._ Frantic for purchase he grabbed for any surface that wasn't slamming into his head, back, nose—searing agony and a gasp….coughing, water, blow it out, hold it…. His limbs weren't responding right anymore. His lungs ached. Needed another breath. A few more seconds…. Blackness… richocet, like a ping-pong ball, flipped, up was left, right was down, swimming went nowhere as the water pulled him inexorably down, forward, faster… Cal couldn't move, fighting was slower… eyes crammed closed he could sense nothing, and the pain began to ebb, and his last conscious thought was that at least he hadn't been shot this time.

* * *

Only because she had been looking in the right direction, aiming another blast of air at the incoming aircraft did Sara see the wisp of disturbance in the air—feel it with her alchemy—as the plane she was aiming at dropped an explosive straight down just before she managed a direct hit, spinning it off into the side of the hill, where it exploded instantly with a beautiful, violent impact.

Otherwise she would never have had a moment's recognition that it was Cal Fischer standing on that ledge, blasting at the planes with impressive focus blasts of water that carried more than a hundred feet in the air, or the pain of momentary blindness as the explosion landed between them, or had the horrifying realization as she rapidly blinked her eyes clear of seeing that the entire ledge—rocks, fire, alchemist—was a smoking ruin.

Experience held her together as part of her heart screamed and writhed with fear and sorrow. That part was crushed underneath the drive of battle. That aircraft was already down, but she wasn't about to let another one drop _anything._

The radio at her hip crackled to life in something other than Drachmans barking orders at the artillery, "—as that Whitewater?" Live Wire's voice shouted—just a few decibels short of being a panicked cry—through at the rest of them.

Sara thumbed the switch. "Keep it together!" she shouted, eyes scanning the sky for any additional targets. They had downed one, and driven off two, which meant at least those two were still in the sky. "Rapid, I want you to _soak that wall._ You hear me?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the other water alchemist replied with a grim tone. He had to know what she knew, if they hit the rest of it with water, it was going to explode. What did it matter now? Roads could be repaired.

"Molecule, _feed it._ Live Wire, light them up. Marble, I want a wall thick and hard enough to insulate a giant oven _now._ "

A chorus of Yes Ma'am, and Yes Twilight followed.

They were going to _cook_ any of the enemy who had decided it was time to come up that pass. The artillery behind them was shooting volleys into the pass, and Sara could hear the shouting of Drachmans now. There was no way there were foot soldiers marching in this, but that didn't mean they weren't causing a panic. Sara had no idea what officer had come up with this particular plan, but she had a feeling if they weren't fried, they would be in for a really nasty meeting later.

One more order to give. "Whisper, while they're aiming low, we're going to clear the sky-road."

"I read you loud and clear," her daughter's voice came back, grim, stifling the emotions Sara knew they all were. Cal—they couldn't do anything for him right now, if at all.  
Destroy the enemy first. "Bring them hell."

Despite the distance between them and the spotty visibility Sara could sense every Alchemist on the field like a brilliant beacon of energy, and it all happened at once. The fire flared, and _exploded,_ sending debris cascading, and it didn't matter how loud the storm was because the screams behind it were louder.

Pushing together, Sara and Trisha shoved the storm front forward, sending the sleet flying almost horizontally for half a mile in either direction right back into the faces of the enemy, in the direction from which the planes had come. A focused microburst designed to knock anything still flying out of the sky.

Whether it hit anyone she didn't know, beyond a certain point they had to release the storm again—even two alchemists could control a weather system only so much—and hope it did what they had sent it off to do. All Sara did know, was she didn't hear another whir of plane engines, and not another bomb was dropped. The Drachmans, frantic, were retreating, while the Western Drachman artillery and alchemists pounded them with everything they had. It would be morning before they could see the full extent of the damage.

Night had fallen completely. It would be morning before they could even possibly hope to mount an investigative party. Sara didn't dare let herself think too much beyond that. Brutal and fierce as it had been, the fighting hadn't lasted more than an hour, though the cleanup would take all night, and they would be watching, waiting, in case the Zinoveks tried anything desperate.

Their allies could handle the rest, however. Thanks to the alchemical interference, the worst of the storm had rolled slowly past them, and the sleeting stopped. Grabbing a flashlight, Sara made her way across the icy ground towards the edge of the river, near the cliff.

The other alchemists met her there. In the darkness, even with handheld lights, she could make out only faces, grim, concerned. Live Wire looked shaken. The rest hid their fear better. Clearly however, they all had the same idea. Slowly, lights aimed at the ground, they combed an area nearly twenty yards in all directions, before coming to a very simple conclusion.

"He's not here," Marble commented as they reconvened. "Not a trace of human remains."

Live Wire blanched.

Sara nodded. "Based on where the bomb landed, and where the rock cracked, it's likely he went over the falls." Whether a living Cal had plummeted into the water, or an already dead one, made little difference at this point. Anyone falling into the river had little hope of survival. Still, if anyone did, it was the Whitewater Alchemist. If he'd gone in alive, he might have been able to transmute himself out of the mess.

"How do we mount a rescue party?" Rapid asked, eyes glinting eagerly. The younger man was clearly still wired, his adrenaline still in his system as he bounced ever so slightly on the balls of his feet. "There's no path down beside the road, is there?"

"No." Trisha shook her head. "The locals have been very clear on that point. There's no way down here except the highway, and we've just rendered it completely impassable."

"We could always make a new one," Marble suggested. "I mean, _I_ can make us a safe path down the river side. The Drachmans probably won't even notice, and we can always remove it later."

Transmute an entire path down the mountain side. Well, Sara had heard—and done—crazier in her days. She looked around at the team, and realized the only way to talk them out of attempting to at the worst find and retrieve their comrade's body, would be a direct order; an order that she thought might be more destructive than letting them try. But they couldn't all go. "All right then. Whisper, you're the lead on this. Marble, Rapid, go with her. Make a path, and search all the way down as you go. If he's alive, he might be hanging on to a rock anywhere between here and the valley floor. Look for signs of survival—scrapes on the shoreline, uniform pieces… blood. Anything. _Do not_ go into the enemy camp. If you don't find anything before the river widens out, report back immediately."

Trisha looked momentarily startled that Sara hadn't demanded to lead the mission herself, but seemed to understand within the moment. "We've got it," she promised, then turned and headed towards the rocks in the darkness, with the other two alchemists walking briskly behind her.  
Live Wire and Molecule turned to Sara after they'd left. "What do you want us to do, Ma'am?" Molecule asked formally.

"Come with me," Sara replied. "We need to report in to Command and see if they have any additional intelligence about what it is we just put a stop to, or what they want us to do next. Then, Live Wire, I expect you'll be wanted in the infirmary."

The pale-faced red-head nodded. "Did we sustain any casualties?" she asked, looking surprised. "They didn't manage to drop any more bombs on us…except the one."

"Probably no dead, but there will be injured. By morning they'll have had to deal with making sure that fire is out and hasn't spread. We'll be keeping an eye on that as well, in case alchemists are needed. But they'll have work you can assist with, minor injuries if there aren't any major ones. Anything to keep the military running at full strength. I have a feeling we're going to need them sooner than we like. They've started pushing us, and they won't stop just because we've thrown a few tricks at them. Eventually they will learn how to counter our defenses." Sara would not place bets on them giving up. They had to keep pushing, because their leader would not accept anything else. Fear of retribution from their own government would keep the Zinoveks coming. "Let's go."


	61. Chapter 61

**December 18** **th** **, 1990**

Despite the deep, wet cold and the dark, Trisha's team kept pushing forward, creeping slowly and quietly down the winding far edge of the river, that would have been much more treacherous without the careful and precise application of alchemy to their footpath by the Marble Alchemist. Step by step she widened and solidified the rock into a clear and sturdy path from which they could survey the rapids clearly. Not that it was easy in the dark, even with flashlights, and floating alchemist lights Trisha generated with her abilities, by reflecting ambient diffuse moonlight.

Rapid was there mostly in case they needed him to transmute someone back out of the water, or keep the water away from them. He was uncharacteristically solemn and serious as they searched for any signs of Fischer. The irony of where the Whitewater Alchemist had disappeared was not lost on Trisha, either.

The chances of finding him alive were slim, and they dwindled as the night wore on. The explosion could have killed him on impact, or the shock of cold when he fell. He could have hit his head on a rock, or been impaled, or drowned, or died of hypothermia. The list was extensive and Trisha wasn't sure how much she trusted to the alchemist's luck. She wanted to hope, but Fischer was not a _young_ man, and anyone could die.

The most perilous part of their trek was as they passed the smoking remains of the Zinovek's aborted attack. They had retreated, leaving only the hulks of destroyed vehicles, some of which were still on fire. Trisha watched the other side of the river, but there was no one left to spot them. Not up here.

It was not yet dawn when the ground leveled out alongside the river which took a brief swing south from there, and widened and slowed beyond them. There had been no clear sign of the passage of anything save for a few freshly busted rocks that had been slammed by debris from the collapsing overhang. No blood, no scraps of Amestrian uniform, no body parts. Nothing on their side of the river. The dusky lightning of dawn through the clouds made it possible to vaguely see the other side, only fifteen yards away. Nothing that looked like it might be a human body.

"We'll have to go back up soon," Marble commented, sounding tired and dispirited.

Rapid kicked a stone into the water with frustrated force. "We have to find him."

"We _have_ to report back," Trisha replied firmly, her tone brusque. "It's been almost nine hours. If someone else didn't find him, he's dead."

"And if the enemy found him, he's probably dead." Rapid shuddered. "Still…we have to at least investigate the other shore. There's an eddy there," he pointed across the way, "Where some of the debris washed up. If his body did… it's probably there."

Trisha looked at Marble. "Shall we make a bridge? I'll help." Air and light might be her specialty, but every State Alchemist knew the theory behind all standard transmutations, and every _Elric_ had a wider diversity of tricks. Her Grandpa had made sure they all learned.

Marble nodded. "Let's do this."

Together they sketched a circle in the mud, and Trisha poured her energy in to assist as Marble quickly created a rock-and-dirt archway across the river. They'd have to remove it when they left, but it was wide enough for them to cross as long as they were careful.

The three alchemists walked one-by-one across the bridge, with Rapid first, then Trisha, then Marble. Trisha refrained from looking to either side as she focused on staying steady, and was just grateful when they all reached the other side without incident. They needed to act quickly, in case the Zinoveks had soldiers walking security duty this far out from the main camp, which was still a half-mile distant.

"How are your tracking skills?" Trisha asked Rapid as they approached the area where, as he had said, the water swirled and eddied along the shoreline, which seemed to catch debris… small chunks of rock, broken tree limbs, and some scraps of metal from the trucks up the hill that had exploded.

"Until now I'd have told you they were pretty good," Rapid admitted as they approached the debris. "Suddenly our training doesn't feel adequate."

"You'll be fine." Trisha crouched down at the edge of the debris field, looking for any sign "We're probably not looking for any subtle sign here. The ground is soft enough from silt we'll see any signs of movement." For several minutes, everyone was quiet save for the sounds of shifting debris and the crunch of feet on the icy shore. They sifted through as much as they could, looking for any signs of life, or death, finding nothing.

Daylight had come, and they really needed to go. Still, Trisha was reluctant to give the order. Doing so meant leaving their commanding officer, a fellow alchemist, for dead, whether he was or not. It meant going back without even a body, and no confirmation one way or another, to friends… and having to tell his family. Gloria was in town. By now, she almost certainly already knew her father was missing in action.

Trisha stood, and sighed, turning to look in the direction of the enemy camp. It was only then that a line in the dirt, scraped through the frost and ice, caught her eye. Softer ground would have allowed for more obvious marks. Crouching back down, she examined the ground. "Over here."

"What is it?" Marble asked as the other alchemists came up behind her.

Trisha traced the line with a finger. About a foot, a little more, to the side, another, as if maybe, someone had dragged a body wearing boots. Moving forward slowly, she identified the scuff marks to either side of a boot-print in one softer area, now crisply held by ice. "Right here. What does this look like to you?"

She waited, wanting them to come to their own conclusions, in case she was seeing things because she wanted see them.

"It looks like someone was dragging a body," Rapid said after a minute, his voice quivering with excitement. "It could be Whitewater."

"Or it could be one of any dozens of Drachmans who might have fallen into the river when our tank rounds started blowing up their vehicles," Trisha felt obligated to point out. "Still, we should check out this trail." A trail that led almost straight towards the Drachman camp.

Ten yards later, after combing the landscape in excruciatingly slow detail, they finally found something more concrete. Not that it was much… a blood-stained scrap of half-raveled blue wool caught in a bramble thicket at a height that implied whoever was hauling the person had lifted them to get through the bushes.

"We're not going through there," Trisha made the call. It was a nasty thicket, and in daylight they would have no way to hide. "We have to go back and report. At least with _this_ we have a direction to look."

"Like that's any good," Rapid snorted, scowling. "If they took him into their camp, was he alive? Was he dead? Why would they take a body if he was?"

"All excellent questions, and ones we are in no position to answer." Trisha frowned back. "We have the barest hint of evidence that they found Whitewater's body—alive or dead, we don't know—and thought it important enough to drag back to their camp. After that, we have nothing and we can't investigate. However, we know that Mihalov has spies in camp. It's possible we'll get back to find they've already reported information."

 _That_ got Rapid's attention. He didn't argue further, but followed as she led the way back across their bridge—which Marble then removed—and back to their path—which Marble then blocked the end of to hide it and make in inaccessible by others. The hike back, while treacherous, went much faster in daylight without stopping to search than it had at night. Still, it would take a couple of hours to get back to the top.

* * *

Sara was awake and waiting in the main command tent when the scouting party returned, stiff, frozen and exhausted. Not that she had slept either, beyond a catnap she had forced herself to take only through years of practice. Trisha had radioed as soon as she had been in a safe position to do so and Sara already knew what there was to know; that they had found no body, but some evidence that suggested that the Zinoveks might have found and dragged Cal from the river. In what condition he had been the only clue was blood on the cloth, which could have been from where the thorns caught him, or likely injuries from falling into the river and being tossed all the way down to the end of the pass. Sara could not imagine how anyone might have survived, even though she had heard crazier. There simply was not enough information to know either way, and while the realist in her head said the most likely case was that Cal was dead, she would not let herself utter those words without real proof. If there was even the slightest chance of his living, she would find out.

Mugs of steaming coffee and hot food were handed out before she even asked a single question. The leading officers of the Drachman military, Gavril Mihalov, and Live Wire and Molecule joined them, and waited as well.

As soon as she finished eating, Trisha gave the report, starting with the relevant information, and then back-tracing and covering the steps involved in the investigation to get to that point. This time, it included a much more detailed description of what Trisha and the other alchemists had noted about what the Drachmans had left behind, the number of vehicles that had been destroyed or at least damaged and abandoned, tanks, and the few burned bodies they had spotted. While it wasn't the reason they had gone, it was invaluable information to the war effort.

Then came the barrage of questions, which Trisha mostly fielded, except when Marble or Rapid had been the first to see something, or had a specific observation to add. Finally, they had said all they had to say, and Trisha looked at them. :Has your intelligence seen or heard anything about the Zinoveks dragging in a prisoner or a body that wasn't one of their own?:

There was a general shaking of heads, and Mihalov spoke for them. :Not yet. We haven't gotten a report from any of our people on the inside, however, so it's possible they have and we just haven't gotten word yet. Our next scheduled contact isn't for six hours, though we have communications officers standing by at all times in case of unscheduled emergency transmissions. If we hear anything, you'll know.:

:And will we be able to rescue him if he's alive?: Rapid demanded in passable Drachman.

:That will remain to be seen.: The response was hard to hear but not unexpected. Sara knew that not everyone could be saved, though she was already working on a variety of plans. The Alchemists did have the autonomy to choose to work independently if needed, though not in any way that would run counter to the needs of their allies.

Sara forestalled any objections—and it was clear that Rapid had several from the look on his face—by holding up a hand. "You've brought us invaluable information. Now, I want the three of you to go change and rest. I'll contact you as soon as we have information or new orders, so it will be at least six hours. Rapid, I need you on top of your game. You're going to be our only water alchemist for the foreseeable future." She knew the younger man was talented, and he had been doing intense one-on-one training with Cal. She just hoped it would be enough for him to step up and handle Cal's level of transmutation should it be needed.

They nodded, and she dismissed them, sending Live Wire and Molecule along with them. After last night, they all needed more rest. When they were gone, she finished her coffee, and stood. :Do you need me for anything else?: she asked Gavril.

The other man shook his head. :Not until we know something. As usual, there's no way to thank you enough for what you've all done for us since you arrived. I have to say, given what we've seen so far, I have no idea how Drachma ever managed to make any inroads into Amestris at all.:

:We've learned a lot of new tricks since then,: Sara replied flatly. :And you're welcome. Anything we can do to keep Savahin and the Zinoveks from consolidating power and becoming a real threat to anyone outside of Drachma's borders, we will. That's why we're here after all. That said, you might want to look into _actually_ training some ethically minded alchemists with defensive capabilities for yourself. That's always been Drachma's mistake in dealing with the alchemists within its own borders, and that has to change on a cultural level.:

:With all the upheaval lately, we might just be able to,: Gavril admitted with a nod. :Though I don't even know how we'd convince them to come out of hiding, or where we would find any.:

:In your prisons,: Sara responded without hesitation. :Many were, like me, thrown in prison cells. One of your predecessors even imprisoned the majority of the Drachman Alchemists used in the war after we sent them home rendered incapable of performing alchemy.:

That got her a very startled expression. Even now, there were things members of government did not know about their own country. :How?:

:The same way they did me. In fact, they probably learned it from us,: Sara admitted wryly. :We sent many of the poorly trained Drachman Alchemists home after we had captured them, and used a transmutation circle that dissipates energy to make it so they would be unable to gather energy to perform transmutations. It's something the Xingese alkahestrists invented. Since it doesn't require energy to do anything, anyone who can draw it properly—or burn it into someone's flesh—could put it on someone. My brother, the alkahestry trained one, was able to break the circle and remove it.:

:And you say that the alchemists from the last war are in the prisons. Or were.:

:Many of them have probably now been released,: Sara pointed out. :Their only crime was failing as alchemists with next to no training in the first place, and being captured by the enemy. They may not _want_ to touch alchemy anymore, but if you ask your prison officers for manifests and who those people are by name, I suspect you'll find many of them already fighting in your army. Ask for volunteers. By now, they're all middle aged or older, and they'll know themselves and the situation well enough to make an informed decision.:

:But how will we train them? You said they were poorly trained in the last war. What will be different now?:

:Isn't that obvious?: Sara shook her head. :You've got us here.:

* * *

Trisha didn't mean to defy her mother's direct orders. At least, not entirely. Before she slept, she felt obligated to go find Gloria and tell her second-cousin what little they had discovered. Anything was better than nothing, really. If it had been her, and her mother had gone off that edge instead, she'd have wanted to know anything anyone knew.

Finding Gloria turned out to be more difficult than expected. Apparently her way of handling worry was _keeping busy,_ and in this case that meant following a string of people who said they had been interviewed by her last night or that morning, or had seen her going by with Alexei looming in tow, yet they also weren't at their temporary apartment, or the television-and-radio studio.

She was about to give up and go back and get the sleep she had been ordered to when Trisha caught sight of Gloria and Alexei at last, coming down the street _towards_ their building. She knew Gloria had caught sight of her at almost the same moment, because she stopped dead for a moment, and Alexei had moved two steps past her before realizing she wasn't moving. He looked back, then forward and spotted her. Slowly, they both started moving again, and Trisha met them just outside their building.

They didn't need to speak. Gloria nodded towards the building, and they all went inside, and up to the little apartment. Trisha followed them inside, and waited. The moment the door closed, Gloria rounded on her. "What do you know about my father?"

Trisha swallowed, and pulled the scrap of fabric out of her pocket. "We found this," she said as she held it up in the light. The fabric had dried, which only made the brown-black dark of blood stand out more against the Amestrian blue. Gloria gasped. "It was caught on a bush. We _think_ Zinovek soldiers found him and took him back to their camp, but… there was no way to tell what shape he was in when they found him."

Gloria's hand reached out tentatively, and Trisha gave her the scrap. Clutched against her, Gloria closed her eyes a moment, and took several steadying breaths. "So, you don't know if he's alive or not."

"We don't," Trisha acknowledged, "I'm sorry. It was a miracle we even found that much. It was all the way down in the valley."

"How long have you been back?" Alexei asked her. "You don't look like you've slept yet."

"I haven't," Trisha admitted. "We got back a couple of hours ago. Then we were debriefed, and I came looking for you. I thought you'd want to know."

Gloria nodded. "I appreciate it. After last night, they didn't give us clearance for this morning's meeting. They didn't even tell us Dad was missing until your Mom came and found me late last night. It was almost midnight."

"We were already on our way down the mountain by then."

Gloria took a longer, harder stare at her, and then flushed with embarrassment. "Look at me, keeping you standing. Are you hungry? Thirsty? You must be ice cold after being out all night in that muck."

"It's fine." Trisha smiled, despite being tired, and wasn't surprised when it turned into a jaw-cracking yawn. "I'll go find my bed now that I've found you. We're off duty for the rest of the day as long as they don't try to hit us again, which seems highly unlikely given the damage and the major blockade they've just helped create in the middle of the pass. Or, unless we get information we can follow up on about where to find your father."

Gloria threw her arms around Trisha and hugged her. "Thank you." When she stepped back, she handed Trisha the scrap of uniform. "You might need this… for evidence, or tracking dogs, or whatever. I… don't."

Trisha tucked it safely back in her pocket. "I promise I'll send word as soon as we know anything, no matter what the news is."

With that, she turned to go, as she closed the door behind her in the hallway, she saw Gloria turn to Alexei, and bury her face in his broad chest. His arms wrapped around her. Then the door was closed, and Trisha did not have to listen to her cousin sob.

Her heart, like her feet, was lead-heavy all the way back to her tent.

* * *

Amalea Finn felt particularly useless. Despite assurances that her lightning attacks had been useful in the fight, and her healing skills had been of some use, she had spent most of the past twenty-four hours keeping watch on skies that were unlikely to hold anything again so soon, or sleeping. Everything felt wrong. She knew, academically, that she was dealing with the grief and uncertainty of having lost a comrade, but without the certainty of his death. A commanding officer, a legend, a strong steady seemingly unbeatable force who had vanished in the simple blink of an eye. If someone with Whitewater's incredible power and ability could be killed so simply, what hope did the rest of them have?

She had learned alchemy from her father. When she was little, when he was still struggling with the loss of his friends in the war, he had used his alchemy to make her laugh, and showed her the basics. It had been a bonding between them, especially when she showed an affinity for the science. She knew that his pride, that teaching her the basics, had helped her father move forward with his life. While he had never talked about it in those days, she had learned as a teenager, and as an adult, how hard it had been for him to keep his will to live, when he had lost every one of his closest friends in combat against the Drachman army.

He had been so proud of her when she made it into the State Alchemy Program, and when she had become a State Alchemist. Even now, though he'd been scared for her, he'd told her he was proud as she headed off on this mission. He'd assured her that Twilight and Whitewater were the best commanding officers she could ever hope for on a mission like this, and he was sure she would learn a lot, as well as being incredibly useful. _You're the healer, the one who saves lives. They need you most._

Yet she could do nothing to save Whitewater, General Fischer, one of the highest-ranking remaining Alchemists of those originally taught by Edward and Alphonse Elric themselves. Incredibly talented, proven in battle, and still handsome enough Amalea knew she was not the only woman at military HQ who thought he was attractive. Not that she would _ever_ dare to say so in a million years. His devotion to his wife was as legendary as his alchemy.

Amalea sat in the Alchemist's group meeting tent, not really tired, since she and Wren had been ordered by Twilight to sleep last night when they weren't on watch duty, which the three alchemists had split. She knew Wren was probably not asleep either, but for the moment, she was alone, off duty, and unfocused. What were her father think, or say?

Probably to pull herself together and find a way to be useful. This was the military after all. She had chosen this path, as opposed to the research path, or private medicine.

The door-flap to the tent opened abruptly, causing her to jump slightly. Silently berating herself for being sensitive, Amalea looked up to see who had entered.  
Ryan, the Rapid Alchemist, had come in. She wasn't sure if he saw her there, because he simply crossed to the table in the center, and stared intently down at the map weighted down there. His light brown, wavy hair was tousled and rumpled, but he didn't look like he had slept well. His fingers splayed on the table as he leaned forward were vibrating from tension that she could see, looking closer, ran through his entire body.

"It's my fault."

So, he'd noticed her after all. Making a split-second judgement, Amalea stood, and moved to stand beside him. "How?" she asked simply.

"I had a better angle. If I'd been faster, I could have gotten a hit off before it dropped the bomb."

"Did you see it first?"

"I… don't know," Ryan admitted. "I heard it."

"We all heard it," she reminded him gently, taking a risk and resting her right hand lightly on his left shoulder. " _Could have_ is meaningless. We all reacted to the best of our abilities at the time. None of us could have predicted where it would hit, and if they'd dropped it later, it might have hit the camps again, or the city itself. Hitting on the edge where it did… we should just be grateful their aim wasn't better. Whitewater made the call to stand where he did, didn't he?"

Ryan glanced sideways at her. "Do you know how cold logic sounds right now?"

"Yes, I do," she replied, irritated by his implication that she didn't care. "I've been trying to tell myself there's something we should have done differently for hours, but when I try and break it down, I can't think of anything. At least _you_ found evidence. All I did last night was heal a few bruises and stare at the sky. You're not the only one of us who looked up to him, you know."

To her surprise, his expression softened. "I always kind of imagined myself the next _him._ Not that I'm that good yet, but someday. Now… I have to take over for all the alchemy he would have done, and I feel like in comparison… I'm just a shit alchemist."

"You're not—shit I mean," Amalea objected. "None of us can be him, cause we're not. Even he wasn't what he was now when he was our age. Remember the stories Whisper told us in training?" She presumed his group had gotten many of the same stories of what the State Alchemists that were now their much-senior officers had been like in their early days. "And she got those stories from Twilight, who went through the program with him. _Someday_ we might be that good. No one expects us to do more than our best."

Ryan didn't look too reassured, but he had relaxed enough that his muscles were no longer tight-coiled. He sighed heavily. "I know that, but I just don't feel it right now."

" _Twilight to Liondragons_." The radio on the table crackled to life.

Amalea closed her mouth on her reply to Ryan and reached for it first. "Live Wire and Rapid listening." A moment later the others responded as well, in various stages of awake.

"You'll hear a plane approaching in about five minutes. Do _not_ attack. It's reinforcements from home."

Her spirits lifted for just a moment. The second Amestrian plane was arriving. Even if it wasn't a fighting plane like the ones the Zinoveks were using, it would have supplies and maybe additional alchemists. "Understood, Ma'am. Would you like us to meet the plane?"

"No need. I'm headed there now. You can help any additional personnel settle in when they arrive in camp."

"We've got it," Amalea promised before the transmission ended. She turned to Ryan and offered him a small smile, hoping it conveyed confidence that they could at least do that much. It was better than doing nothing after all. "Right?"

For a moment, she thought he was going to taunt her, but after a few seconds he nodded. "Right." He ran a hand through his hair, and straightened up. "Thanks…for that. Can you not—"

"Tell anyone? I won't, I promise." Amalea shook her head. The last thing she would do was betray someone's confidence about their personal feelings. Not as long as they didn't put the team in danger, and she wasn't worried about that. They all had doubts and fears. That was just part of being human. The fact that the cocky show-off had real emotions wasn't a surprise. She was just a little startled that she had been let in enough to see it. The only off-putting thing about him had been his tendency towards over-confidence, and the fact he was _incredibly_ flirtatious with just about every female of his own rank or lower. At least in Central. He hadn't been here, though she wondered if that mostly had to do with the fact most of the women here spoke no Amestrian, along with being under the direct authority of legends who _far_ outranked them. Amalea wasn't really afraid of her superiors, but she definitely didn't want to get the Twilight Alchemist angry. "Thanks."

She startled him. He turned and looked at her for a moment, perplexed. "What for?"

"I was feeling pretty useless myself. But if I got to make anyone feel better, than I'm not as useless as I feel."

"You're not even close to useless," Ryan blurted out. "Lightning, healing… you do a lot. We need you."

A warm feeling of appreciation filled her. "Thank you. I needed to hear _that._ Now, let's go see if we can be ready for whoever's joining us."

"Right." Ryan smiled weakly and gestured grandly towards the door. "After you."

* * *

Gloria took a sip of water and set it down, willing her hand not to tremble as she straightened her notes for the evening news broadcast. Reporting in Karmatsk, and even the past few days, had never been as hard as the report she was about to give. Even Sara had told her to go ahead and make the report public. Her father being missing-in-action (they were not going to say he was dead without absolute evidence) was a huge fact on the breaking story of last night's new attack. All she knew was that the intelligence they could get out of the Zinovek camp, which had been minimal, was that there was no report _yet_ of anyone having seen a prisoner, or anyone matching her father's description. They had been informed to keep an eye out for him. It wasn't much.

She had to report her own father's unknown fate with a straight face on international news, and Gloria had no way of knowing if her mother had been told. She was unsure what Sara had reported back to Headquarters, or if that information had been sent yet, and last night's coverage had been right in the beginning of clean-up efforts, with very little knowledge of what precisely had happened or the full situation. Tonight, the people would be expecting more detailed efforts. Some of the artillerymen the night before had also been Cretan support troops, and they had been a large reason why the Zinoveks had lost so many vehicles behind the line of defense drawn by alchemy. Their help, and the work of the State Alchemists, had won them another small victory for their allies, with minimal casualties.

Except, possibly, one very critical person, at least to her. Gloria wanted to believe, with all her heart, that her father was alive, even if he might be an enemy captive, but she wasn't sure she dared hope; if that wasn't just a daughter's fantasy.

"We'll be starting in thirty seconds." Alexei's words cut through her reverie, and Gloria snapped back into _professional mode_ , ready to get on the air. She sat to one side of the Drachman reporter—the Cretan on the other—of the news desk. Having all three together had been a join agreement. It was another opportunity to show that they were allies in a visual way.

 _I'm sorry, Mom. I hope you're not finding out like this._


	62. Chapter 62

**December 19** **th** **, 1990**

The pale rose hue of dawn outside the window contrasting against the soft gray winter clouds should have been beautiful. Except that after staring out the window all night, eyes strained and stiff from a full night's tears, with Miss Whiskers purring with concern on her lap, Alyse could find no beauty in it.

The universe was perversely unfair. After all it had taken to bring them together, and everything they had done to remain so. After all the times Cal had almost died, and then she almost had… it just couldn't end this way. _Missing-in-Action_ _my foot._ The news had hit her with such force she had stopped breathing for several seconds. Minutes later she had been _demanding_ an explanation into the phone, shouting at the man on the other end of the line giving her the news—she had shouted at her husband's best friend. She knew Tore had called as soon as they got word at headquarters, but that in no way softened the agony of what she had been told. She had demanded to know everything, and since there had apparently been no reason to keep it secret, Tore had told her every detail Sara had sent in her report about the battle, and the explosion, and the only clue to if he might be alive, at all, being a scrap of _bloodstained_ material.

Cal always promised to come home, and up until now he had never broken his word. Of course, he also promised to try not to get shot, and while she was sure he tried, Cal almost always seemed to fail at that in every war. Yet he'd always managed to come home to her. But _this—_ how did a man survive something like that? Even one as clever and quick-minded as her husband. Had he managed to get off a transmutation that protected him, or had he managed to slow his descent, hold on to the rocks, make his way down to the bottom without being fully at the mercy of rapids that, in her mind, were huge, violent, frothing swells.

Alyse had never considered herself superstitious, but she couldn't help thing of how paranoid Cal had been about these missions into Drachma. How he said they felt wrong, how he was worried about things going wrong in ways they hadn't before. She had reassured him, but now she couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't been right. _You're supposed to come home, sheepish, but alive, and promise me it will never happen again, and then fill out that damned retirement paperwork so we can just enjoy the rest of our life together._ That had been the plan, as soon as this was done, retirement. An end to his desk-job frustrations, and all the time they could want to be together.

Now, she might never see him again. Chances were slim, but at least no one had sugar-coated the information or tried to give her false hope. Especially since their primary rationale for the possibility of his survival was that the Zinoveks had—probably—bothered to remove him from the river and haul him all the way to their camp. A dead man was a useless bargaining tool.

 _That's a morbid thought. Must be all those years living with State Alchemists._ Or at least one. Her father had possibly had the least-morbid sense of humor for a State Alchemist, and he was the one who had once—at least so she had been told many times—inhabited a suit of armor for multiple years.

Calvin had always been more the soldier type than her father had been; a little rough around the edges, more worldly in a different way, but not stupid or shallow. He had just come by his knowledge of the world via another route than she had, and she had been first intrigued, and then completely in love. Not that it had always been easy, but nothing worth keeping ever really was, or so she'd found. Their differences rubbed as much as they complimented each other. Or at least, they had. The past few years had been so much smoother. Now…

 _If you're dead, Calvin Fischer, I will never let you live it down._

Alyse reached for the mug on the table in front of her, sipping tea that had long gone cold. The shifting of her lap woke the dozing cat, and Miss Whiskers looked up at her, irritated. "Well I'm sorry," Alyse retorted. "I know you miss him, too, don't you?" She started stroking the cat again. "He always has been able to charm females of _any_ species." No past tense, no finality, not without proof. All she could do was hope he hadn't spent hours lying out there, dying a slow death the way he had always feared. After the number of times he had almost gone that way, she understood his terror. She remembered only too well the day she had watched them wheel him into the infirmary tent, a gaping gut wound sucking the life from him, his body already near-ice cold. She had begged Ethan to teach her how to help save him, how to share her own energy with her meager alchemical abilities.

She couldn't look anywhere in her house without seeing traces of Cal, or stirring up a memory. Anything from him crashed out on the couch with one of their children napping on top of him, to pulling a snack out of the refrigerator, or coming up the stairs to ask a question, or cornering her in the bedroom hoping for a little intimate time. The times he surprised her with flowers for no particular reason. The ages of these memories never came in any particular order. In some of them he was the age they were now, and in others his younger self, with his unruly curls, carefree grin, and a body that looked like it was off the cover of a convenience store romance paperback.

A living body she would have given anything to have right here, in any condition, to wrap her arms around and squeeze tightly and hold on to forever.

The knock at the front door was so unexpected she jumped, nearly dumping Miss Whiskers on the floor. With a grumble of disgruntlement, the cat moved, and jumped down onto the floor. Alyse stood, pulling her fleecy house-robe around her as she went to the door. Who would be here at this hour?

A peek through the peep-hole revealed her brother standing on the porch.

Alyse opened the door. Will was not only standing on her doorstep; he was standing on her doorstep with what looked like breakfast from her favorite pastry shop.

"Hey, Sis." Will held up the bag and a large sized take-out cup of coffee. "I thought you could use a pick-me-up this morning."

"If that is a double-chocolate coffee with milk and honey, and a strawberry scone you are officially the best brother in the universe." Alyse managed a weak smile.

Will shrugged. "What else would it be? May I come in?"

"Since you come bearing offerings, yes." Alyse stepped out of the way, and let Will in. Of course he knew—it had been all over last night's news, in her daughter's voice, coming from her daughter's face. Her poor, brave girl, reporting as a true professional, even as the words coming out were reporting the missing status of her own father. She didn't break down, and she didn't cry. Her voice wavered, but never broke, and Alyse could not have been prouder of her for holding it together, when she was certain Gloria was devastated and conflicted the way she was. That made her think about Charlie. Had he seen the news? Did he know? What did he think? Would this prompt him to at the least reach out?

Will set her coffee at the kitchen table, and pulled out a small plate for her scone. "How are you doing this morning?" he asked then, as they sat down across from each other. He had rushed over last night after seeing the news, and Alyse had cried on her brother for nearly twenty minutes, before eventually assuring him she would be all right until morning, and that she needed some time to herself.

She should have expected him back over again so early, really. "A little better," she replied before picking up the cup of rich decadence that had been her favorite since high school, but something she rarely indulged in now. "Not much, but I don't expect I'll even know what to feel until we have some kind of answers as to what happened. I want to believe he's alive, but I don't want to delude myself either. It's another situation where I don't know if someone I love is alive, or dead, or even really where they are, and… I just have to wait, again. I really hate waiting."

"I've noticed." Her brother's expression was nothing but open sympathy. "I also know you'll find a way to keep yourself busy, to keep your mind off it, to keep going. You'll tell yourself you can't fall apart, because the rest of the family needs you. Well… don't. It's okay if you need somewhere to cry. It's okay to not be the strong one for _everyone_. Give them a chance to feel like they're the strong ones, and let them comfort you."

Alyse had to admit, she'd never thought of it that way. "Does that work?" she asked.

"Did it help last night?"

"It did," she acknowledged. There was never an age at which letting her mother, or her father, or her older brother—on fewer occasions, but still—be someone she could lean on for support. "I guess I've just gotten used to being the one everyone looks to to hold things together."

"You weren't that person when you were sick," Will reminded her, "And everyone survived."

"Survived is not the same as handled it all right," Alyse pointed out sourly. "My husband was falling apart and my teenage son started sleeping with his girlfriend." The outcome of which was still, years later, to fully be realized, but it had caused a lot of complex chaos in all of their lives.

"Okay, so it wasn't the best example, but it happened, and you can't always be the one people rely on, or they _don't_ learn to do it for themselves and for others. Better moral?" Will suggested.

"Yes, I suppose. I just… I can't dump my feelings on others. It feels selfish."

Will looked frustrated, but he shrugged. "So be a little selfish, and if you don't want to dump this on anyone else, talk to me. I'm your big brother, I can take it."

She wasn't going to win this argument; not if she kept refusing, and in truth, she didn't want to. Alyse desperately wanted someone to lean on right now, and the person it should be was the one she was worried about and couldn't have. "Thanks, Will. You're right, and I can't turn down an offer like that. I just hope you have a lot of dry shirts."

"If I have to, I'll bring a towel."

* * *

Sara had never particularly been a fan of the phrase _no news, is good news._ The idea that hearing nothing was better than hearing the worst, or that if you hadn't heard anything, that meant things were fine. Sure, that might work in some circumstances, but she had rarely found it true in any of her work as a State Alchemist.

There had been nothing that Mihalov's spies had seen or heard yet of Cal, and while they had been ordered to investigate the possibility of an Amestrian prisoner, or corpse, that would take time. Until then, they had to carry on as planned, with Sara in sole command of the Amestrian alchemists. Not that she had any concerns about handling command, but as hard as they were trying to put on a professional face and just work, she knew that it was affecting the morale of the entire alchemist unit. Not even the arrival of the second plane, with plenty of supplies, and an additional alkahestrist, here primarily as a physician, had done much to lift anyone's spirits. The other handful of Amestrians to arrive were also regular military personnel, and not Alchemists, there for support purposes, and more consistent and efficient military communications.

Down the hill, the Zinoveks were not taking their setback quietly. What little intelligence they had so far included repairs and upgrades to some of their vehicles and other equipment, particularly that salvaged from the failed forward push. Sara would bet all eight years of non-existent back pay that their repairs and improvements included their aircraft. There would be more bombings, and they would have some new plan to try and counteract the alchemist's defenses.

Just to be safe, even though Mihalov assured Sara he knew who the handful of likely spies in his army were, Sara had ordered the alchemists to start using alchemy to check their food and beverages for poisons or other drugs before eating from now on.

Into the grimness of her day was injected a small ray of brightness, as one of their communications officers found her standing on the wall, wearing a radio. "We have a communication from the northern post," he informed her, handing her the receiver. "Proteus Alchemist on the line for you."

Ted. Sara took the receiver. "Report Proteus. This is Twilight."

"The Northern Pass is secure, Twilight," Ted's voice came across the line, sounding incredibly smug and satisfied.

"Already?" Sara blurted out, startled.

Ted laughed. "What can I say, we're efficient. Once we had their troops convinced that we had half the demons of ancient Drachma on our side attacking them, their spirit was broken. The Western Drachman men were able to overrun them. If they're not dead, we've got them in chains except for the handful we let escape on purpose. They'll have to report to their leader that they've failed, and we've got a terrifying force up here. They won't want to die, and the real story will make them sound like blithering fools, so I kind of look forward to seeing what they tell Savahin about what happens up here."

"You'd better hope it's not something that causes him to send more reinforcements," Sara pointed out, though she couldn't help but feel a bit of pride at the effectiveness of the alchemists they had sent. "Where are you sending the prisoners?"

"Up to Tilish," Ted replied, naming another of the prison cities. "They've got the room, and it's far enough away that it won't be worth trying a rescue attempt on Savahin's part, not that he seems the rescue attempt type."

"That he doesn't." Not that they could afford to throw away soldiers, but Savahin now controlled a military that was almost eighty-percent the size of the previous standing Drachman military, which still dwarfed the Amestrian military, and certainly the growing army of Western Drachma. "Will you be staying put for now then, to see what happens?"

"That's what the Drachman units are doing," Ted replied, and his voice sobered and got quiet. "Is it true about Whitewater?"

Even out there without easy access to television, word had reached them. "That he's missing, yes," she replied, her own voice dropping in volume to match his by habit. "There are people investigating his whereabouts and whether or not he survived, but at the moment that's all we know."

"Do you want any of us back down there?" Ted asked.

"Not yet. At least, not all of you. Not unless the Western Drachman strategy changes and they pull their other soldiers back here as well. You might still be needed there, and you're best as a unit. Why, who were you thinking of sending?" It was possible that they might want the reinforcement, or that Ted had an idea.  
"Honestly, you'd be best off with Glacier. He's no Whitewater, but him and Rapid together might be useful, and his fog trick would be incredibly good for limiting flight visibility. If the Drachman planes can't see well enough to fly safely, they'll be grounded. Sensation too. Her abilities don't require physical contact as long as there's air to mess with, and if she can get pilots questioning their own senses, and if those start contradicting their instruments, you'd have another benefit. What she was pulling freaking them all out up here might work down there as well. Let them think the Western Demon Army is spreading."

Two cocky hormone-ridden water alchemists; just what Sara needed under her command. Still, Ted made a good point, and Sensation was a responsible, level-headed woman who could be useful. "Can you spare them?" It would take at least two days for them to get back down here, but it was better to get started now if that was the case. Or, it occurred to her, she could send Rothschild up with the plane and have them back tonight.

"Right now, we're sitting on our asses staring at the remains of an empty camp. I think we'll be fine."

"Good. Have them ready to go right after dark. Do you have a stretch of road you can clear of about two-thousand meters?"

"There's a long straight stretch just west of us with nothing parked along it. I'm sure it's that long."

"Keep it clear. I'm sending Rothschild and he'll be arriving before sunset."

She could almost imagine Ted's ears perking up like a dog. The tone in his voice certainly lifted with curiosity and understanding as he responded, even if the words were just, "I'll have them ready."

"See that you do. Twilight Out." She handed the radio handset back to the operator. "Find me Lieutenant Rothschild. I have a mission for him."

"Yes, General." The communication officer saluted briefly, then vanished back the way he had come.

Sara turned her attention back to the movements beyond the wall. Despite any obvious movement, she knew there was a lot going on. At some point, in order to get to the Zinoveks, they would have to remove the destruction that now barricaded the road through the pass. For now, however, it would work in their favor. As long as they couldn't go down, the enemy could not come up. Their only options would be long-range weaponry, which was now almost entirely out of reach, and the planes. With more alchemists with defensive capabilities the pilots and their officers could not so easily plan for, it would give them a much-needed edge. They needed to destroy those aircraft, or at least find ways to ground and delay them until Amestris could complete enough of the new lighter, faster planes designed with the ability to fight back in the air.  
She just hoped that they could hold them off long enough.

* * *

Most days Charlie sort of enjoyed his work. Old Man Eli—as everyone in the small town called him—ran the only automotive mechanical shop in town, imaginatively named _Eli's Automotive._ Widowed, arthritic, and going slowly blind, Eli had put out a sign advertising a single full-time job, but hadn't been able to get anyone in town to bite on it. Charlie had seen the add on a jobs board in the post office the next town over, and had been incredibly lucky that Eli didn't mind taking on an employee who did good work, just not quickly. Though Charlie's hand had continued to get better with daily use. It ached often, especially on rainy and cold days, but he was getting better at using it for the fine-tuning work he could do with the other.

The old man owned a house separate from the shop, on a lot the street right behind it. Charlie had been able to move into the single bedroom place above the shop, which was actually one of the storage rooms, cleared out. Thankfully the shop had a full shower downstairs, even if it was small, and all Charlie really needed was a place to wash, do his business, and sleep. While food wasn't technically part of the job deal, Charlie had an open invitation to eat with Eli any night he wanted, and he hadn't seen any of that taken out of his meager pay.

Eli seemed to like having the company. Charlie was the first person he had talked to in a long time who hadn't heard all of his old stories until they were bored to tears, and the novelty of a new audience was probably enough to make the old man like him. That, and Charlie always did his best work.

Today had not been one of those great days. Charlie had opted to spend the evening the night before sitting at the bar, nursing down a drink and listening to the radio and general chit-chat of the locals. They had stopped asking nosy questions of _Harlen Ellis_ after the first couple of weeks after his arrival, and just accepted him as someone who didn't like to talk about his past, but was getting their cars worked on much faster than Eli could manage, and that was good enough for them.

Last night, the radio had been on the right station to catch the international broadcast out of Drachma. Charlie had known there was one, but he hadn't known until that moment that his sister and Alexei were back in Drachma, covering the war. From previous news broadcasts, he had known his father was going, but there was little surprise there.

The first shock was the sound of Gloria's voice coming out of the radio less than ten feet from him, reaching across the distance, as if she were speaking straight to her brother.

The second, was the words coming out of her mouth. What did that mean, exactly, that their father was _missing-in-action?_ Charlie knew what the phrase meant, but not in what way it applied this time. Was he really just missing, or was that the military's way of not saying he was almost certainly _dead_?

He had spent the rest of the evening in a twisted knot of tension and conflict, worrying about his mother, who had to be terrified, and his sister who had to sit there and be all professional when Charlie could tell—even if no one else could—that she was holding back tears by a sheer willpower few could ever have managed in that situation. He had also drunk more beers than he meant to.

As a result, he spent the next day quietly and manfully forcing himself to focus on work, when his mind wanted to be elsewhere, thankfully only mildly hung-over. It wouldn't do to make mistakes. Eli was counting on him.

Apparently, he was even more reticent than usual, because at the end of the day, Eli waited until they were done cleaning up, and did not give him a choice about dinner. "Miss Lillian Pevens said she's going to bring me by a huge beef casserole and an apple cobbler as a thank you for us getting her car done so fast last week. Since you did all the work on it, only right you eat your share. I'll expect you at six."

That gave him about half an hour to wash up. Charlie nodded. "Yes, sir." It was easier than arguing, and he didn't really have any other plans for food.

He arrived showered, changed, and vaguely presentable at Eli's back door right on time. What he hadn't expected, however, was that Miss Lillian Pevens would still be there.

Having worked on her little white car, Charlie had seen Lillian in passing a few times, and when she brought the car in and picked it up. She was one of the teachers at the regional school, where the four small towns in the area all sent their children. Maybe three years older than Charlie, she dressed the way he imagined his mother had in her youth—in a lot of knee-length florals, pastels, with cute over-sweaters, and she kept her hair back conservatively with thick fabric hairbands, but otherwise down. She taught elementary, never looked a bit out of place even when she was worried about having her car so she wouldn't miss work, and had an air of innocence still about her that was both appealing and yet screamed _unmarried virgin_.

Which made him more than a little cautious when she smiled at him. The table was set for three, with the casserole freshly served, a side-salad, and water and a bottle of wine on the table. "Good evening, Harlen," she said as he entered the room.

"Good evening, Miss Pevens," he replied, keeping it cautiously formal. He had never once mentioned to Eli—or anyone else in town—that he was married, or that he had children. He never talked about his past because he didn't want to let something slip, and a lie would be difficult to keep up, so he had simply said it was painful, complicated, swore he hadn't done anything against the law, and that had been it. He hoped this wasn't about to turn awkward.

The meal itself went fine. They talked mostly about recent local events, and he asked questions about her work and her students that he knew would keep Lillian talking for hours if the meal went on that long. Eli just seemed pleased not to be alone, though he looked between them just often enough that Charlie was sure he was trying to read how well the two 'young folk' got along. Charlie also couldn't help but notice that aside from animated warmth, Lillian kept glancing his way when she thought he wasn't looking.

Once, he'd have been happy to see that look on a woman's face. Now, he found it filled him with dread. He made sure not to get too close, or look in her eyes too long, or seem overly interested in what she had to say outside of polite formality. The food was delicious, and he made a point of very slowly sipping his wine. He did not trust himself to drink much with her over. Finally, the evening was over, and she left.  
When she was gone, Charlie turned to his boss. "Why did you invite her to stay?"

Startled as his tone, Eli shrugged. "It would have been rude not to, since she made dinner. Besides, she's a single gal, no one to go home to. Dinner's always better with company."

"She kept looking at me."

"She likes you. I'd think that would be obvious."

"She doesn't know the first thing about me." Charlie shook his head as he returned to the table and took a swig out of his glass of wine.

"No, but she might if you let her."

Oh, no. They weren't even getting started on _that._ "That's not happening."

"Lillian's a good girl who's turned into a fine woman. I've known her since she was a tiny thing." He shook his head. "I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I wasn't trying to set you up."

"Good, because I'd hate to hurt her feelings by having to turn her down." That was a woman looking for a real relationship, and he was possibly the _worst_ place she could have come looking for one.

Eli got quiet. "Something's bothering you today, more than usual. Something happen last night?"

Well, there was no point in pretending nothing had happened. Even the nearly-blind man could see. "I… got some news last night that I wasn't expecting." When Eli didn't ask any prompting or probing questions, he went on. "One of my relatives was sent up to Drachma with our allied forces and, he's been wounded." There, that was close enough. "I'm just worried about him, that's all."

Eli's expression turned sympathetic, and he nodded. "Must be someone you're pretty close to. I lost a lot of friends in the last war. It never gets easier. Not that that's what you want to hear, I'm sure, and you probably know that."

Charlie finished his wine, and refilled the glass. "Why would I know that?"

"I may be mostly blind, but I'm not dumb," Eli retorted. "Your skills, age, the auto-mail; you were a soldier before you came here, engineer corps I'd bet my left eye on it, and that's the good one."

"What if I was?" Charlie drank, then turned and walked over to the couch and sat. "I'm not now."

Eli remained in his easy chair that he had moved to during after-dinner conversation. "No, but we're of a breed, if you get me. You're a hard worker, Harlen, and a good man as far as I've seen. You're no pup, even if you are young enough to be my grand-son. I don't know everything you've been through, and I'm still not gonna ask. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

That simple; the old man cared. Charlie felt a little foolish, and then guilty for the lies he'd been telling him since his arrival; the lies he would keep telling for as long as he was here. "I appreciate that," he admitted, hoping he sounded appropriately grateful. "This news just took me by surprise, and… I'd appreciate it if you didn't encourage Lillian in my direction. I'm not looking. I… my last relationship burned, and it was pretty much entirely my fault. Until I can be a better person, no one deserves the mess I'd make of their lives if we were involved."

"Well, you're the only one of us who has the knowledge to be any judge of that," Eli conceded. "But I still think you're being a bit hard on yourself. In any case, if she keeps nosing around I'll make sure to politely discourage her from pursuing you. Not that I can promise she'll listen to an old man."

It would have to do. Even if his marriage was a sham, and almost certainly over, Charlie couldn't even look at someone with a future ahead of her and consider mucking it up. "Thanks." He drank the rest of his glass without another word, and Eli was content to sit in silence.

Eventually they returned to small talk until it got later, and Charlie went back to his room above the shop, no less concerned and conflicted than he had been that morning, and possibly more-so. His father might be dead. He hadn't heard a word about any of the rest of his family. His fault, of course. He had never put a return address on anything he sent Shelby, on purpose. The money was more use to her than his presence, and being a constant drain on her life. She didn't need a useless dead-beat who couldn't parent complicated life. Surely, by now, she was over him, or getting there. If he went back… there was no reason thinking about it. Shelby must hate him for leaving, no matter that he was sending most of his earnings so she and the children could live well. He wanted her to finish school, and work in a job she loved, and the children she had borne to have happy lives. They were better off without him.

They all were. He could not imagine evening his parents forgiving him for this.

Upstairs, he stripped for bed before turning on the radio. It was about time for the late night news broadcast, which meant if there was anything from Drachma recorded, they would re-transmit it.

Charlie didn't bother to turn on the light. The moon came through the window, casting enough that he could see the vague shapes of his bed, the small desk and chair, and the low dresser which held his meager belongings he had taken with him—a single duffel bag worth.

The wine wasn't enough for him to be drunk—Lillian had only brought the one bottle for them all to share over dinner—but it was enough to get him muzzy-headed. The news was dull, mostly local stuff, even on the regional station. Finally, they got around to news from the Drachman front, and once again, he heard Gloria's voice reporting the days news; clean-up and a low number of casualties, no new strikes on the part of the Zinovek troops. There was also not a single word about their missing father. After Gloria's part ended, he turned the radio off again.

 _I don't know if you're alive, Dad. I hope so, unless being alive where you are would be worse than being dead. If you are dead, and you can hear me, I'm sorry. Just, forget I was ever your son. You've got Gloria. You never needed me. All I've ever been is trouble and a liability. I know that now. At least now, you don't have to keep trying to repair my mistakes._

He was out of anything else to drink in his room, except the water from the tap. Closing his eyes, Charlie rolled over, and waited for unconsciousness to set in.

* * *

Tonight, was one of those nights where she just wasn't going to get any sleep. Shelby had resigned herself to it hours ago. Summer was teething and fussy and wanted nothing more than to be held every moment Shelby was home for the past few days. Cameron had bumped his head earlier in the day and, while he hadn't needed a trip to the doctor, he had been clingy as well. Abigail had been the easiest of the lot, and the almost-four-year-old had caught a cold from someone in her play-group, and had spent the day on the couch, looking at picture books, and watching children's programming on the television.

The day itself had not been the best either. While her mother had watched the children, Shelby was dragging. She had barely made it through her work shift, or the one class she'd had that day, and her pre-natal visit had not been satisfactory or reassuring. Half-way through her pregnancy, it was already the hardest one she had dealt with by far. As if having Charlie walk out on them hadn't been bad enough, balancing everything else made it much more of a stress on her body. Her blood-sugar and blood pressure numbers were higher than her doctor liked, and the constant, draining nausea had dragged on into her second trimester. Even with the help of her mother, her mother-in-law, Alyse's mother Elicia, and her own friends, finding the time and energy to do everything just seemed to get harder.

Tonight, she was in the recliner in the living room, with Cameron asleep tucked to one side of her, and Summer asleep on the other; Abigail passed out still on the couch. The last was good, because there wasn't room in the chair for a fourth person. Between the sleeping babes, she could feel the subtle twitches of her unborn. The only sounds in the room were the soft breathing of her children, whom she loved more than anything, even when they drove her crazy.

It hurt though, to realize just how true that thought was; she loved them more than anyone… even the man who fathered them. After more than three months, she was beginning to come to terms with the fact that Charlie was gone. Sure, he sent money, but money was not a person, a life partner, a supportive lover, a father.

Objectively though, had Charlie ever been most of those things? Maybe at one time, and on and off, and sometimes. He had certainly had passion at the start. When it was easier, when they were living with his parents, he had doted on Abigail, and on her. After that, it all got complicated, and she never could decide if his infidelity had been a symptom of discontent with just his job, with her, or the fact that neither of them had been truly happy living up north. How much of any of this was still her making excuses because she cared, versus being unfair? She just didn't know. Charlie had defied his family and societal conventions to be with her, had worked under a supervisor he hated to provide for them, had gone off to war working to take care of them, and then, he had disappeared, but he was still providing. It was just a confusing muddle, and one she wished she could find him to _talk_ about.

That was the worst part; the lack of understanding, the lack of closure. What if he really never came back? If he died, or gave up and stopped sending money, or anything happened to him at all, she would never know why, only that something had. Or what if she made the decision to move on, to file for divorce, to find someone else, and then he came back? What would that do to their children? Summer had barely known him, and this new one would possibly never know his or her father.

Shelby's cheeks were wet. With a child on each arm she could not reach off to wipe the tears from her face, so they just fell, sliding slow and quiet. Her vision blurred, until all that was clear was the soft cold blue glow of the winter moon.


	63. Chapter 63

**December 20th, 1990**

Kavik Provlovich—as he was going by for the moment—had done many different jobs in his lifetime. He had been a short-order cook, a grocer, a brick-layer, and a few less legal things as well, mostly smuggling and information brokering; nothing that had killed people, but enough he had found himself doing time for five years when he got on the wrong side of a not-entirely-legal government operation. Afterwards, with nothing to go back to, he had settled in Holavon and gotten work as a bartender. At least until the dangers of politics had sent him into the resistance. Valhov had been behind the deal that had gotten him sent to prison, and Kavik hadn't been interested in a government with that man in charge. Savahin was even worse.

His eclectic set of skills made him an unlikely but excellent spy. So, when he'd been told to enlist in the Zinovek army for the purposes of reporting information back to the resistance, he hadn't hesitated.

Up until now, he had almost always found a way of getting the information needed to give the resistance an edge, or at least enough of one to survive. Now, however, he'd been asked for something far more specific; the location of a person who may or may not be there, and may or may not be alive.

So far, his search had yielded nothing. Not that he could just outright _ask_ about an Amestrian body, but there had been no buzz among the lower ranking soldiers, or anyone else in the camp within his hearing. Kavik hadn't seen one amongst the dead either, when the bodies had been laid out after that disaster of an attack, and he'd been assigned to help put them in coffins to send home. Not had he heard or seen anything when he'd unloaded a truck of medical supplies and brought them to the infirmary. None of the injured were anything other than Zinovek soldiers.

Chances of finding the Amestrian alive dropped with every passing hour, but as he kept his ears open for other information, he kept listening and looking as he went about his duties. He was on kitchen duty when he was finally handed—literally—an opportunity to get an ear near the ranking officers.

:Take this to the officer's mess,: the head cook handed him a tray with the best of what the kitchens had to offer, :and don't drop or spill a thing. That's for General Korvoskaia.:

:Yes, Sir.: At Kavik's lowly rank, everyone was Sir. It was the perfect chance. Walking briskly and with purpose, he went straight to the officers' private mess only twenty yards away, and ducked inside.

There was no real luxury to be had in the military camp, but what there was could be found here, or in the General's private offices. In this case, that meant better lighting, and chairs and tables that weren't rickety, along with better food and drink when there was any to be had.

General Korvoskaia was in the tent, sitting with a handful of his highest officers, clearly holding a meeting even while they ate. It looked as though the other officers were availing themselves of the food brought over earlier that they could self-serve, which meant that the cook had something special for the General. He got a look at it as soon as he set it in front of the General, then stepped back out of the way. Instead of leaving immediately, he waited by the side table holding trays of food and pitchers of drink, in case the General wanted anything else.

Korvoskaia barely acknowledged him, taking the lid off the tray and revealing a steak—a cheap cut of steak, but better than what anyone else was getting—and steamed buttered cabbage. Kavik refrained from drooling, and was pleased when one of the other officers—a Colonel—waved him over for a drink refill. That got him started around the table with the water, and no one paid him any mind as the conversation continued.

It seemed whatever they were discussing at the moment was not of any particular secrecy amongst them, and it was understood that any soldier serving them would keep his mouth shut.

The first part of the discussion focused on updates from the various units regarding preparations for the next attempt to advance, which would require them to first find a way to clear away the detritus that now blocked their path. So much of the discussion was the best way to do that, from night expeditions, to simply dropping another bomb on it and lighting it on fire again until it burned out and blew up to clear the way.

From there the discussion shifted to intelligence from the top of the hill, which continued to be—for them—frustratingly minimal, as yet another one of their spies had been captured, or had defected. In either case, they had stopped communicating.

:Speaking of information,: Lieutenant General Radikoff commented with a wry chuckle, :Have you gotten anything out of the Driftwood?:

Korvoskaia frowned slightly, shaking his head. :Not a thing. Hasn't stirred since the first day. Medic Kolinski says he's in a coma, but he's dying. Probably won't wake up again.:

Driftwood… the Amestrian had fallen in the river, it certainly sounded like they were talking about him.

:I'm surprised you haven't just run him through,: Radikoff shrugged, stabbing the food on his plate with a fork.

:A kindness.: Korvoskaia shook his head. :No. If the blue-coat wakes up, we might be able to wring something out of him, or at least use him as a hostage. If not, well, we can drop him out of a plane over their camp as a message. Until then, he remains in my office, and none of you will mention that he's there.:

That elicited several chuckles around the table, some slightly uncomfortable. Still, no one suggested giving the man medical care, or trying to save him. As they finished eating a few minutes later, the meeting also came to an end. Once again his presence was barely noticed as he simply stepped in and started clearing dishes, as if he belonged there. The officers walked out without a word to him.

Just to be safe, Kavik completed the task of clearing and returning dishes to the kitchen. If the man—or what remained of him—was in Korvoskaia's office, than Kavik knew where he was, because the man had placed the tent up against an outcropping of rocks, and the real office was back in a very defensible, well-protected cave on the side, where it was out of line of any direct fire. Now, he just needed to wait until he had a moment that was safe to signal his allies, and he could pass that information on. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

* * *

It was amazing how much the old warehouse storage facility outside of the city had changed in a very short few weeks. Additional buildings, and the first factory designed for manufacturing airplane parts specifically, were brand new additions to the property. The roadway had been extended out into the field beyond to form a proper length runway better suited for takeoff and landing, especially with less experienced pilots.

Edward was impressed. He was also impressed with how quickly the small core of best-and-brightest of the military engineers picked out and recommended by their superior officers had taken to the concept of building machines that could fly.

The first of the new planes, the first primarily designed as a cargo and personnel flyer, was already in Drachma, having successfully flown practice flights, and now all the way there without any reported problems.

In Drachma, where the part of him that worried about his daughter, and his granddaughter—the part that couldn't ever leave anything alone—wished he were as well. At least what he and Winry and Al were doing here was important to the war effort, and the defense of innocents, even if it wasn't front-lines alchemy. Alchemy _was_ a critical part of the process of developing and building planes for Amestris; something the Hashman Syndicate, and the Zinoveks, did not make use of. By using alchemy to perfect the lightest, but strongest, metal alloys possible for flight, their new planes were already superior. They could fly higher, for longest distances, with better fuel economy, and handle the temperature changes better than even the original model off which they were roughly based.

"I know that face."

Ed looked up from the plans on the table in front of him, to find Winry watching. "What face?"

"The _having the urge to do something reckless and glorious_ face." She stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leaning over him and his chair. "There is no way _anyone_ is letting you get on one of these flights to Drachma and you know it."

He did know it, and it frustrated him. Hadn't he _flown_ the critical mission to bring Sara home just a few months ago? Admittedly, that was because he had been the most experienced pilot in Amestris, and that with next to none. Now, even Trisha and Rothschild had more flight time than he did. The new crop of pilots they were training were a small class of ten, but that was just the start. Eventually, there would be more, and he only hoped that what they were starting did not lead to an era of war of the levels of mass destruction reported from the other side of the gate. "I could still be useful," he grumped.

Winry hugged him tighter. "What would you do, die gloriously?"

Ed reached up and clasped her hands. "Death was not part of my plan."

"And yet, it seems to like to come after you." She squeezed back, then loosened her grip as he stood.

"And I keep kicking it in the face." Ed grinned, turning to face her. His hands rested on her upper arms. "You know what they say about age and treachery."

"Yes, and I'm pretty sure it was coined about you, or Roy Mustang." She smiled sadly. "Edward… please, be grateful we're still able to be involved, and leave it at that. You'd be nothing out there but a liability."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's true. It won't matter that you're retired, if you show up all eyes will be on you. Everyone will assume you're the one making calls for all actions regarding the State Alchemists, and it'll make Sara's job harder. Right now, we want our daughter to come home alive, and her daughter, and if they have to contend with that, or with taking care of you, it will just put everyone at more risk."

"No one has to take care of me."

"Are you going to lie to me and tell me your joints don't hurt? Or that you can outrun falling missiles?"

"Well, no," he replied begrudgingly.

"Are you going to tell me _with absolute certainty_ that your ninety-one-year-old body _won't_ give out if you try and go full out and use alchemy with the energy needed to be effective in full combat on the levels Sara's been reporting?"

His mouth tightened. "You've made your point."

"I'm sorry, Ed, but we're _the old people_ now." Winry's smile was gentle and sympathetic. "Nowhere in the world is over ninety even middle aged, and that's okay. We've trained them to kick ass, and they'll do it for us."

As long as they survived to do so. Taking out Whitewater was tantamount almost to taking out himself, or Al, or Mustang in his prime… or Sara. What were they in for if they couldn't get those Drachman planes out of the sky fast enough? "You're right, but that doesn't make me feel any more confident about this."

"Me either," Winry admitted. "But it's what we can do. Come on, I was about to do an inspection of the engines that they completed this morning. Want to join me?"

"Sure." He dropped his hands, and offered her an arm instead. "I enjoy watching them sweat while you nitpick their work."

* * *

Sara had a plan. It was a daring plan, risky, and potentially lethal if it got out of control. It also went way beyond the scope of their mission objectives as defensive allies of Western Drachma. Still, if they wanted any hope of rescuing Cal, or even recovering his corpse if he had died in the past few hours, it was their best bet. It would also benefit their allies.

The other alchemists sat around the table, grim-faced. This was Sara's call, and she would not be reporting it to Central ahead of time. Any word getting out might get back to their enemies. If they didn't say anything, they couldn't go against orders that hadn't been given.

"How much of this do we tell Mihalov and the generals?" Sensation asked, a logical question to come from the diplomat. She and Glacier had been easily retrieved with the use of the second plane, as scheduled, and Sara was glad to have them now. Glacier would be integral to her plan.

"Only that we have a plan, and that the end result will be beneficial to his cause," Sara replied. "I'll handle that myself. He will understand that the less he knows, the better. In case this goes badly, he will have plausible deniability and can say we took action without consulting him. If it goes well, he can take credit for approving the plan and reap the benefits."

"And that's what we _want_?" Rapid looked skeptical.

"It is if it means we rescue whatever is left of Whitewater." Sara met his gaze without blinking. "This isn't a glory mission. It's a retrieval, and a risky one at that. It's relying on us all to do our parts and work flawlessly as a team. What we are about to unleash has never been tried before and there's no room for mistakes." Or some of them might die in the rescue attempt. "Does everyone understand their role?"

Heads around the table nodded. Trisha spoke first. "You, me, Rapid, and Glacier will be up on the cliffs, waiting to perform the transmutation."

Marble spoke next. "I'll lead the retrieval team down the path during dark of night, to avoid being spotted, and we will use the cliffs and our path as a shield to protect us from the transmutation. Then, once you've cleared the path, Live Wire, Molecule, Sensation, and I make our way in, locate Whitewater, collect him, and make our way back to the trail with all haste."

A simple summary of a more detailed plan, but they had already gone over it several times. Sara nodded. "Correct. Timing is key, and protection. We can't know how effective the transmutation will be in dealing with the Zinoveks; whether it will distract, destroy, or immobilize them, or for how long. Remember, this is war. Avoid being seen, but injure or kill if you have to." The last thing they needed was someone holding back or showing mercy to an enemy that would almost certainly not reciprocate. Alchemists were still little more than demons to some people in Drachma. Even though the retrieval team would _not_ be in Amestris blue, the moment anyone used alchemy, the truth of their identity would be out.

As they were already in agreement, there wasn't much else to be said. The others simply looked at her expectantly.

"All right. Go prepare. Retrieval team, I want you at the bottom of the hill by three. That's when we'll hit." No one expected an attack at three in the morning in the dark, in the cold. Of course, most people didn't fight wars in the north in winter either.

"Yes, Ma'am." When they were done, they stood, each heading to their own tent to pack any needed supplies, catch a couple of hours sleep before the mission if they could, and then for the retrieval team, start making their way down in the dark of night. Sara's team would head for the top of the cliffs only a little after they left.

Now, it was time to give Mihalov just as much information as he needed to know to stay out of their way.

 **December 21** **st** **, 1990  
**  
Trisha had done a lot of things in her lifetime, and it certainly wasn't her first mission to Drachma, but it was definitely the coldest, darkest, and most primitive. She preferred her first trip, years ago, when they'd been wined-and-dined as diplomats. The part where terrorists kept trying to kill them, and Roy had been kidnapped and injured, were not fond memories, but it was still better than this one was likely to be.

Climbing to the top of the cliffs at the top of the pass on a cloudy night was definitely the most athletic thing she had done in a while however, even with all of the training she gave the younger alchemists on a regular basis. Fortunately, she was in good shape, because she was panting anyway by the time they reached the top. She managed not to look smug when Rapid and Glacier looked as tired as she did.

The only person she worried about—not that she voiced any concerns—was her mother, if only because of how much of a workout it was for her knee. Still, the Twilight Alchemist made it to the top right behind them, looking none the worse for wear no matter how she might actually be feeling. The trail they had followed they had only found by asking one of the locals, because they had been certain people must go up there sometimes. It was only a quarter mile to the top from _this_ end of the pass, while it was over a mile of cliff at the other end, in the valley. The pass itself, being a couple of miles long, meant that they still had a bit of a hike along the top, which was not _quite_ a wall of rocks and ice, though it seemed close. The remains of unlogged old pine forest across the top shielded them from the worst of the wind as they made their way through the dark.

There were unlikely to be any enemies up here, nor would they be spotted from the air. The only possible danger might be the local wildlife, and from what Trisha had been told, these forests saw people enough that the largest thing in them was the occasional Drachman Bobcat, and a lot of large, fluffy pale-gray squirrels, and birds.

None of which were in evidence tonight, except a brief glimpse of one very white owl, staring at them from the trees above. The walk to the edge of the cliff was made without incident. It was also made in almost perfect silence. Something about the hush of the world made it feel right, even though no one would hear them speaking quietly up here. It was only when they broke out of the trees, and could see the few rocky yards to the sharp precipice beyond that they stopped, and turned to Twilight.

Her mother nodded to them all. "All right. You all know what to do. We have fifteen minutes until we're supposed to start. The retrieval team should already be in position. The area is as flat as we'd hoped, I want everyone to stand no more than three feet apart, so we can all reach each other should anything not go as planned, and we can hear over the noise we're about to make. Are there any questions?"

Trisha had rarely seen Rapid or Glacier look nervous, and she'd been part of their training. Right now, both normally cocky young men looked a bit like they were in over their heads, which was only appropriate, since they were. It was Glacier who voiced what they might both be thinking. "Are you sure _we're_ up to this, Twilight? I mean, I know you and Whisper can, but this storm it—well it's something no one has ever tried before. A four-alchemist transmutation of this size using raw nature?"

This was not the first time they had voiced skepticism, even though they had agreed to the plan. Trisha understood. If they lost control of the storm they were about to whip up—part blizzard, part hurricane—there was a good chance they would destroy or bury a lot more than just the camp below. If they couldn't pull it apart again, it would carry on out into the central Drachman valley, possibly all the way to Petrayevka.

Not that Trisha didn't think that might not be the best thing they could do for this war, but it would hit a _lot_ of civilians if it was allowed to keep going. It was, to be fair, the most complicated transmutation she had ever tried either, and that included the various combined efforts she and her mother had put in of late. This storm required a concerted control of air and water to stir up a storm of driving winds and snow, dump it where they wanted it to go and then break it apart again afterwards.

"If I weren't sure we wouldn't be standing here," Sara replied flatly. "It's a bit late for doubts now, gentlemen. Fortunately for both of you there is already plenty of moisture in the clouds tonight. Just pay attention to the energy once we start, and stick to the plan. Remember that you're not doing this alone, and if you have any trouble, the other three of us will help. Now, let's get set up."

There was no arguing with that. Trisha watched both Glacier and Rapid steel themselves, and move off to the left, following Twilight as she identified the best location to stand, which was just east of a little stone ridge that would break the wind a bit coming from behind them, now that they would not be standing directly up against the trees. They did not need to shove themselves off that cliff. Trisha moved close enough to glance down into the dark, while still staying several feet from the edge. Beyond them, the glow of lights in the Zinovek camps were clearly visible.

Trisha returned to her spot, standing to the right of the boys, between Glacier and her mother. Perhaps the most efficient part of this plan—and most genius—was that none of their transmutations would require specialized circles. Each of them could wear the military-issued gloves with their most used transmutation circle on them, instead of drawing them out on the rocks, and hoping that wind and weather didn't whip them away once they got started. Her mother seemed to think of everything.

Or maybe she had just been giving this particular idea too much thought for a very long time. Sara had admitted that thinking up ways she would have used alchemy on her captors if she'd still had it once they blocked her ability to transmute had been a common pastime when locked in solitary confinement.

Fifteen minutes, now that they were here, seemed to take an eternity to pass. Trisha wondered if the team below was feeling it even worse than they were. They would be waiting, watching, and then they would have to run into whatever was left after the storm subsided, extract Whitewater in whatever condition they found him, and make it back to the trail and up without being followed.

"It's time."

Those were her mother's only words. Trisha focused, concentrated, put her hands together, and felt the flow of alchemical energy as she reached out into the atmosphere. Immediately she could feel the others doing the same; all reaching out together, but focusing on different elements within the clouds, and what they would be doing with them. First, they held everything in place, letting it back-fill, while Glacier and Rapid piled on the moisture, filling the clouds with as much as they could hold, keeping it cold enough to guarantee snow, or at the least, frozen rain.

Trisha had often heard people talk about the feel of a storm building, and she had always understood what they meant in that sense of knowing it was coming. This was an entirely different sensation as the pressure built against and within the alchemical energy she was pouring into the sky above, controlling the air itself. It built until it felt like she was holding back the river itself, or a thousand swimming pools of water, all wrapped within those frozen clouds. Water that Glacier was turning to snow and ice.

"Now."

At the command, the storm was released—not uncontrolled, but the retaining wall of air was removed, and the storm rolled forward with terrifying speed, rolling and twisting in the sky as Trisha and her mother whipped it into a huge whirlwind. There on the hill, the winds battered them, and stinging snow began to fly in her face, sharp and icy. It held in mostly until it was over the camp just beyond, and then all hell broke loose, as the howling winds began to dump snow in a driving beast that should—if it was doing its job properly—be ripping apart tents, tumbling vehicles, and burying supplies in a sudden and terrifying blizzard the likes of which no human had ever seen, even in Drachma.

Trisha closed her eyes against the cold and focused. There was nothing to be seen more than a few inches from her nose anyway. Her only sense of where she stood, the world around her, and the storm, came from her connection to them through the alchemical energy coursing through. With it, she could feel the other alchemists beside her, bolstering one another. Despite their fears earlier, neither Glacier nor Rapid wavered.

A particularly strong buffet rocked her where she stood. Trisha crouched down, letting the ledge behind them shelter her more from the wind, not daring to divert any energy into protecting herself, lest they lose control of the storm. She was grateful she had worn her full winter wools, including the scarf pulled up over most of her face. The sting from the part that was exposed was enough, and she began to feel the cold seeping in even through her boots.

Moving in a giant cyclone, the storm rolled across the landscape with incredibly slowness, and for all its focus, Trisha was certain it ran several miles across, and was no longer entirely certain how far out the edges extended, only that it finally moved beyond the cliff, and past the extensive military encampments.

"That's enough."

Trisha felt a moment's relief, though she did not release her control. Now came the trickiest part; slowly and undoing what they had done. With the care of someone unraveling a ball of yarn, trying not to tangle it in the process, she began to unwind her energy from the others, dropping it away slowly, feeling them do the same as the monster storm slowed, stopped spinning, and ran out of the worst of its load, until they released it, letting it drift back into the rest of the weather-pattern as a natural light snowstorm.

For a moment, Trisha held the energy within her she had taken from the ground, using it to restore some of her own. A trick new to State Alchemists thanks to the infusion of more general knowledge of some basic alkahestry techniques. Even if someone wasn't inclined to go into healing, not using entirely their own internal energy was definitely a life saver. Still, she was sweating inside her clothes, and painting as if she'd run a marathon. Trisha opened her eyes, and looked to see how the rest were faring.

Glacier and Rapid were also on the ground, on hands and knees, panting heavily. All their usual bravado had been scoured clean away by the immensity of their task.  
Her mother was already up and moving, walking closer to the edge to look at the results of their work.

"Did it work?" Trisha managed to find her voice, and forced herself back to her feet. Slowly, she moved to join her mother. At the edge she looked down, and stopped, eyes widening.

Below them, gleaming despite the diffuse moonlight above the clouds was a thick white blanket of snow that had to be at least four feet deep, where it wasn't drifting. That much, dumped that quickly, appeared to have collapsed any structure in the camp without a rigid roof. The lights had all gone out. If there was shouting, it was too far away for them to hear.

Trisha watched as her mother pulled her radio out of her pocket, keyed it to the private alchemist's frequency, and uttered softly, "Twilight to Marble. We are go."

* * *

Amalea Finn had never been more grateful for the talents of her fellow alchemists as she waited within the surprisingly warm and windless protected space Marble and Molecule had created at the end of their walkway, right at the base of the cliff. Through the long, narrow horizontal slit left open at eye-level when standing for them to look out of, she could hear and see the storm driving and burying everything in its path outside. The door to their hideout was transmuted from driftwood, and while it was snug-tight, the howling could be heard from inside.

Molecule's talents had been used to keep them warm for the two hours they had been huddled here, thawing out from their walk down, preparing for their part of the mission.

Molecule's job was just this, providing warmth for them now, and more importantly, for after their mission. If Whitewater wasn't dead, then dragging him out into the frigid weather would probably kill him from exposure long before Amalea could do anything to heal him, or get him to the alchemical doctor waiting up in camp.

Marble was in charge of protective barriers, clearing snow if needed, and anything else involving immediate force or blocking nature… or bullets. They had no way of knowing what the situation would actually be when they hit the camp.

Sensation would be there to distract those around them, though it should be easy, and just keep their eyes sliding _past_ the enemy as the alchemists went into camp, and came out again.

Amalea's job was the obvious one, as healer. She just hoped there was someone left to heal, and that if he lived, he didn't die in her care.

They had a variety of supplies ready, including a Drachman-issue military sleeping-bag in which to wrap the man before putting him on the portable stretcher. A full medical first aid kit beyond just Amalea's abilities was also at hand. Easy snap-on cross-country skis had been provided for them by the quartermaster with no prying questions. They would be much faster than wading through snow or trying some kind of snow-shoes. Amalea was grateful now that her parents had taken her skiing a couple of times on winter vacations, because it had not been a regular part of her State Alchemist training. Food and water rations completed their kit.

Then it was just a matter of waiting.

Finally, the storm outside began to die down, and the snow turned to a light, natural looking fall. The wind stopped howling, and the radio crackled to life. "Twilight to Marble. We are go."

Misty held the radio up. "Marble to Twilight. On our way." Then she put it back in her pocket. "Let's go, Ladies."

The removal of the door allowed them to step out into the snow-clear path Marble had made before, protected by the natural exterior of the rock-face. They moved down several yards before they hit the ocean of white.

"That's some snow job," Molecule whistled as she looked towards the Drachman camp. "It just gets deeper the closer we go."

Given it was only about two feet deep here, Amalea believed it. "It's a good thing we're on skiis then."

They set off, moving as quickly as they could across the several hundred yards towards the buried camp, barely visible as taller white mounds in the dark. It was hardly a straight shot, and they had to pause long enough for Marble to make a very long, straight, sturdy stone bridge wide enough for them to cross. They moved around copses of trees, and brush, and crossed a smaller, frozen creek so buried in snow it was more of a divot.

They paused just outside of sight of the camp, listening for voices, and using binoculars to assess the situation.

"I see roughly two- dozen people from here," Marble whispered. "They've got shovels and they're working on digging out soldiers whose tents have completely collapsed. It looks like several have steep enough roofs they didn't cave, but a lot of the snow fell off them and blocked all the entrances. Some of them are on skis, so the fact that we're in their uniforms and on skis shouldn't be too odd. Also a couple of them do appear to be women."

All of these were good. It meant that they—dressed in uniforms transmuted to match one they had taken off a dead soldier—on skis, and being women, would not immediately be suspicious.

"So, what's our approach?" Molecule asked.

"Our best bet is to come in from different angles, in sets of two," Sensation suggested. "Look like you're heading from one location to another on business. If a lot of people are going in different directions, we won't really be noticed. Try to follow tracks of folks who already have gone the way we need, so the skis will mix in and it will be harder to tell where you came from. We'll meet at the office marked on the map we looked at earlier. If the tent has collapsed all the better for us getting in. Hopefully the General is out helping save his men and not worrying about military strategy at three-thirty in the morning. It should give us a few minutes to get in, assess the situation, retrieve what we came for, and move out. We'll be more obvious then, but hopefully we will know the lay of the camp well enough at that point to take a route that keeps us out of eye-shot and use Sensation's skills to keep them from noticing us making off with a person in a sleeping bag. If not, we follow orders."

Fight, kill, whatever was necessary to get back out of the camp again and escape. Amalea understood, but it still made her afraid. She had become a State Alchemist to save lives, not to take them.

"All right. Live Wire, come with me. We'll edge around to the left and cut straight in. Sensation and Molecule, come in from the south-most position here, behind that tent, and go in about two rows, then take the best route you can. We'll meet you there."

At that point, the snow-laden plant life, which was now mounds of snow instead of delicately-coated branches, became excellent cover. Amalea followed the Marble Alchemist as they crept steadily around the perimeter of the extensive camp. She was grateful that the General's camp, and the hill of rock into which it was situated, was only about a quarter mile in. If it had been truly in the center, they would have never made it.

Before long they had made it to their entrance point. Marble stopped her, and then took a look around. From what Amalea could see, this part of camp was less active, as the huge tents that served as mess halls were here, and no one had been in those at this hour. Amalea followed as Marble led the way. Her heard pounded against her chest so loudly she could hear it in her ears over the shushing of snow beneath her feet, and the murmured shouts of voices and scraping shovels as the Zinoveks tried to dig out their comrades.

She just hoped no one stopped them to ask what they were doing. They hadn't been here long enough for Amalea to feel at all confident in her Drachman, and she didn't think Marble knew much more than she did.

They passed through the row of mess tents, and into the first rows of neatly-ordered camping tents. Or at least, they had been. Most of them were collapsed, and a couple were already dug-out, showing twisted wood and canvas, abandoned.

Hopefully they would simply be mistaken for one of any number of displaced soldiers and ignored. Amalea didn't dare hope, but that seemed to be the case as they passed two men digging vigorously at one mound of snow, shouting back and forth with whomever was inside. The buried person, whoever they were, must still have a pocket of air, because they sounded concerned, but not terrified.

Row after row of tents, and Amalea felt like she had lost track of how far they had gone, or even where they were going. Thankfully, Marble had a keen sense of direction, and seemed to have the map memorized in her head, even without landmarks to go by. They drew nearer to a huge, stony hill, and eventually came to the edge. Turning left, they went only a few yards before they came up right next to a small temporary building set up directly against the hillside. Sturdier than anything near it, the building, while heaped in snow and not at all dug-out, was still standing.

The door was completely blocked by a huge snow drift.

A few seconds later, she heard skis coming up right behind them. Startled, Amalea turned around, prepared to salute, fight, or do whatever needed to be done.

Sensation and Molecule smiled at them from underneath their scarves, still pulled tightly over their faces.

"Too easy," Molecule mouthed, without making any noise.

Marble turned around. "Either we dig, or we make our own door," she mouthed carefully, not wanting to make any obvious noise while they were being conveniently ignored.

"We'll cover you," Sensation mouthed back.

Marble nodded, and they all backed into the nearest recess in the rock. While Amalea watched, Marble placed her alchemically-gloved hand against the rock face, and closed her eyes. The transmutation must have been very focused into the rock, because there was almost no sense of energy at all from where Amalea was standing.

After a minute, Marble nodded, and then slowly, almost like liquid, the rock began to roll back into the hill, vanishing into darkness.  
Amalea turned her back, standing watch and hoping that no one decided they needed the General's office dug out now, and no one decided to glance behind that particular pile of snow-covered supplies. With their luck, it would hold the extra shovels.

Minutes ticked by. Several times footfalls came close as people shoved through the heavy snow, but no one stopped, or spotted them. Sensation had very carefully erased any trace of their ski tracks on the snow leading behind the mound.

A tap on her shoulder startled her. Feeling stupid, Amalea turned, and followed the others into the narrow crevasse, just barely high enough for the tallest of them to walk through. It went straight back, and then curved slightly to the left. From there, a faint glow quickly became the clear if dim light of a lamp someone had left on in this cave that was the back of the Zinovek General's office. The cave where all the protected secrets were being kept.

Including a mangled, beaten body that lay not-at-all comfortably across a table at waist height; clearly for the benefit of whomever had been dealing with it, and not his own.

Amalea looked at the mangled, beaten, bruised face of the Whitewater Alchemist, and almost vomited. Even under the bruising and cuts and some very rough stitches holding close a gash across the forehead, the skin was an unhealthy color of gray. She rushed forward, immediately placing her gloved hand with its alkahestry symbol on the only exposed skin—she was grateful the rest of the body was draped with a blanket. They were deep enough back in the cave that the temperature was above freezing. She thrust energy into the body, feeling desperately for any signs of life, and reading the prone form for damage. What assaulted her was a barrage of information that at once gave her a flicker of hope, and then a sinking dread.

Whitewater was not yet dead, but it was a sheer miracle that he wasn't a corpse. Muscular damage, nerve damage, bruising down to the bone from careening through the rapids in several places so firmly she could almost read the order in which he had sustained them; a terrifying knot on the skull, the savage gashes that had—at the least—been stitched and dressed, though they were starting to become infected. His heart was sluggish, his lungs held water and infection—a rapidly developing case of pneumonia in both—and the slow breathing was labored. His extremities were cold, his head and core fevered. Brain activity was minimal, and she sensed he had been in and out of coma… how many times she couldn't say, but he seemed to be in one now. She hadn't much experience with coma patients.

The Zinoveks had done basic work to keep him alive for questioning, that much she could tell, but if he was in this state, then obviously they hadn't been able to get him awake enough or well enough to be of any use. Now, it looked like they had simply left him to die. The damage to the spine and the nerves concerned her as much as the head.

Stabilize…. stabilize and sustain. They had hours before he was safely in a hospital. She was going to have to handle this herself…now. Or he'd die if they moved him for certain.

Amalea pumped every bit of healing alchemical energy she could manage into him, fighting what she could and where it would do the most good. "Molecule," she heard herself speak without removing her focus, "We need heat."

Within moments she felt the air around them warming slowly. Not too rapidly, but it was noticeable. She focused, absorbing the water in the lungs, dispersing it into proper parts of the body, however temporarily, healing the tissue, strengthening the heart, feeling for where the pain and injury were sharpest, or darkest, or reddest… going by feel. His auto-mail was a broken splintered mess, but there was nothing to be done for that. She soothed the nerves there and numbed them temporarily, to ease the strain on his body.

Eventually, she became aware that she was sweating in her clothes. Opening her eyes, she had no idea how many minutes had passed. The room was comfortable now, though not by any means hot. What mattered was that her patient's breath was rising and falling a little more steadily. Still shallow, still not strong, but it no longer faltered. The blue in his fingers had receded, and his fevered head was slightly cooler. Almost a side effect, the bruises she could see looked as if they had a couple of days healing on them now. Not that it improved the look at all. Many of them were so bad they were still black. The angry skin around the stitches was slightly less so, but not healed. There was just too much, and too much energy too fast might kill him even using only her own energy for healing. She didn't have that much. "That's it. He… should… make it up the hill at least," she panted. "Let's get him in the bag. Be careful, his spine is in bad shape."

She stepped back then for a moment allowing the others to come up, pulling the sleeping bag out of one of the packs as they did, and unfolding it. Getting him into it and onto a stretcher was going to be a challenge, but as a team effort, it only took a couple of minutes to maneuver the bag and stretcher under him, zip him in until only his mouth and noise were visible (breathing would be essential), and then Molecule and Amalea lifted him carefully. Between them, they were the least useful in sneaking or combat on the way out, so having their hands full was the least problematic. "How long has it been?" she finally asked as they angled him towards the tunnel, which bent _just_ enough for them to angle the stretcher through it.

"Almost twenty minutes," Marble replied. "I think we're all right, but we definitely shouldn't dawdle."

"No, we shouldn't," Sensation agreed, slipping some papers into her bag. "These will make for some useful intelligence," was all she said before turning to them. "Let's go."

Amalea wanted to know just what Sensation had found so interesting, but now was not the time. Carefully they edged their way out of the tunnel back into the bracing cold. She almost immediately began to shiver.

They paused then as Marble closed the tunnel back up much faster than she had made it, taking particular care to avoid transmutation marks on the inner or outer walls.

They would never know how, snowed in and dying, their prisoner had escaped with critical paperwork.

At least, not unless they got caught on the way out.

Now it was Sensation's turn. With her in the front, the body between, and Marble behind, they carefully edged their way along the rock, keeping out of sight, while Sensation used her rather unique abilities to turn the attention of anyone who came near them. Thankfully, most of the camp was still focused on rescuing each other, though there were many more soldiers out and about now, and some of them were cleaning off the larger tents, and putting them back up to give people somewhere out of the cold and wet to gather.

Amalea's arms began to ache quickly. Aside from the cold, hauling a stretcher was not the easiest thing to do on skis over four feet of snow. They sunk down further and it slowed them down quite a bit. It was only the preciousness of the cargo they carried that kept her moving. A life she was determined to save.

They almost made it unnoticed. It was during the short dash from the edge of camp to the first row of snow-coated trees that Amalea heard a shout behind them that didn't sound like one soldier calling for help or instructions to another.

She didn't have a chance to turn around. Marble whispered. "Run… head for the tunnel as fast as you can," and the alchemist behind her turned, and Amalea heard the sound of the ground rumbling as the Marble Alchemist used her most effective weapon.

Sensation gave up any pretense of trying to hide them and fell back too, leaving Amalea and Molecule to tear forward, skiing as quickly as they could manage with Whitewater between them. How Molecule could ski forwards, with the poles in her hands coming from behind her, Amalea could not imagine, but they picked up speed, and she was grateful for the cold. The snow had crusted quickly, and as they moved past the first of the trees, she found they did not sink nearly so far. The snow depth dropped markedly too as they hit the edge of the storm line. It was still a couple of feet thick, but it wasn't as difficult to get over. The sound of combat behind them faded faster than she anticipated, but she just kept moving. This was her mission. It was not to fight the Zinoveks; not tonight. It wasn't running away to follow their direct orders. She just hoped that Sensation and Marble were right behind them.

* * *

Sara's jaw was clenched tight, her nerves spring-wound as she watched the progress of the mission below from the very edge of the cliff, lying on her stomach with her binoculars out. Knowing the plan, it hadn't been too difficult to spot the team on the way in, watch them split up, and follow the two that had skirted along the outside to their insertion point. She had lost track of them in the maze of tents, and had instead focused on trying to gather as much information as possible on how the Zinoveks were dealing with the disaster they could not have seen coming, and traced her eyes to where they knew the General's office was; their real target. She thought she saw shadows briefly in that direction, even in the dark, with only the glow of light off the snow. Then, after an eternity, possible movement again. Then nothing. That would be Sensation at work.

Their discovery was simply a matter of unfortunate timing. As the clouds began to roll out and unblocked moonlight struck the snow, the Zinoveks nearest the most direct route out spotted them. One man, turning the right direction, possibly having not even clearly seen them, shouted and motioned, and then there were two or three, and then one had a pistol out and shot in their direction.

Sensation's illusion dropped as she and Marble turned to face the enemy, and the others kept moving as fast as they could.

"Shit." Rapid cursed beside her, looking through his own binoculars. She was not the only one on her stomach staring off an incredibly steep drop.

As they watched, an entire wall of rock rose up between the alchemists and the Zinovek camp, clearly Marble's handiwork. That dealt with the issue of any shooting. From here, Sara estimated it to be at least ten feet tall, and nearly a hundred yards long, blocking off almost the entire width of the narrow strip of valley. _I didn't realize she could draw quite that much energy that quickly. She's almost got Dad's speed at barriers._

It wasn't much of a fight, since they turned and skied after the others as fast as they could. Clearly it was designed to stall them if nothing else.

The Zinoveks were not about to let them just get away either. That much was clear. The soldiers were already boosting each other up on top of her wall. From the top, even as a handful jumped down, one paused to fire his pistol.

Sensation might be at work again though, because the shot went incredibly wide. Or maybe the guy was just a terrible shot. The shooting continued, and the only edge the alchemists seemed to have was that they were on skis, and the Zinoveks were mostly in their boots alone, or had strapped on snow shoes of some variety to help them walk on top of the mess, if they had them available. They could not organize a coherent attack like that, as much as they tried.

Moments later, Marble stumbled, staggered, then came upright again as Sensation grabbed her arm. Sara heard Trisha hiss through her teeth. "Hopefully she's not hurt," she commented calmly. As they kept moving, she doubted it was critical if it was a wound. In any case, as long as they got away, they had Live Wire to treat her.

It wasn't much of a chase after that, the Zinoveks realized it was hopeless, even as they hit the shallower snowbanks, which were still two or three feet deep in most places, and their legs were skill crunching through the surface. They eventually gave up, and turned back.

The alchemists made it to the river, crossed the bridge, and kept going, though Marble stopped long enough to once more knock her own bridge into the water. There would be no easy following them, or seeing where they crossed.

Sara watched them until they were completely out of sight due to the angle of the cliff. Surely, they were back in the wall. Still, she waited for a radio signal. With nothing else to see, she edged carefully back from the cliff face before standing up and moving back to the tree line. The others followed.

Finally, the radio crackled to life. "Marble to Twilight," the voice came through, panting heavily. "We got him."

Sara felt a moment's relief, though it was hardly complete. "Status Report," she replied.

"On the team, minimal injuries; one twisted ankle, one grazing shot to the arm, lots of very sore muscles when it's all over, but we're okay. Whitewater… he's not dead yet, but he sure looks like it. Live Wire's checking him again now. I've got the path blocked up again. They'll never see us, but we need a moment before we make the press up the hill."

"Understood. We'll get back to camp and tell the infirmary to expect you."

"Good. Tell Von he'd better be as good as we were told. He'll have to be to keep this one alive."

Noroki Von was the Amestrian-Xingese alchemical doctor that had come with the most recent resupply. He had several years of experience on Amalea. "I'll tell him. Anything else?"

"Just keep the place warm for us. It's damned cold down here. That little snowstorm you all whipped up is like wading through an ice age."

"That was the idea," Sara gave a dry quip in reply. "We'll have everything ready. If you need assistance we'll send people down the hill for you. Heading back now."

"Thanks. Marble out."

"All right. Let's head back." Sara stowed the radio, turned back towards the dark forest, and started moving. It was definitely easier than standing still out here in the cold. Standing for even a few minutes made her joints stiffen up further. Getting back to camp and warming up definitely sounded appealing, though she knew the first place she would be was the infirmary, and she would probably not leave until she had at least seen Cal, or what was left of him.

* * *

The next two hours were the longest of Amalea's life. She had never had the experience of treating a patient so close to death—who by all that she could figure out probably should be dead already—in her training or in her time treating others with her alchemy. She was a State Alchemist trained in medical alchemy. Keeping someone alive with a non-lethal wound, or keeping them from bleeding out, she had always been confident she could do. The sheer overwhelming extent of what had been done to Whitewater, and what had happened to him, assaulted her senses every time she used her alchemy to examine and bolster him. She had worked as quickly as she could once they reached the safety of their cave hiding place to repeat what she had done earlier, faster, to give him a little more energy—this time shared from the other alchemists with her and not just herself—to keep him breathing so they could haul him up the hill without killing him outright.

Molecule used her alchemy to not only head the air within the bag, but to warm several rocks that they tucked into corners around him, to keep the warmth of the bag high enough. They all took a few minutes to warm up again and catch their breath, drink from their water, and then they were off again, up the steep incline. They traded out who carried Whitewater several times. Everyone was exhausted, and they moved faster by taking shifts.

Still, by the time they crested the hill into camp, the day had begun. It was still pre-dawn dark because of the winter, but soldiers were up and about. Not that Amalea gave them much thought as they hurried across the grounds towards the infirmary. She didn't even realize that someone was waving them down until they arrived, and she found the stretcher pulled from her hands by doctors, and saw them handing Whitewater up into a civilian ambulance.

"Based on what we told them, they decided he'd be better off going right to the city hospital." Twilight joined them. "Live Wire, you're welcome to hop in there with them. Everything's waiting for you there. Anyone else who wants to go, we'll follow after a proper debriefing."

"We've definitely got some things for you," Sensation commented.

Amalea nodded, and then turned and hopped into the ambulance with the medics. She had her job to do. The rest could report on what had happened. She just needed to keep her patient alive for a few more minutes, and he would be in the car of much more experienced physicians.

* * *

It took all of Sara's willpower and professionalism not to immediately follow the ambulance the hospital, where Von, a military doctor, and the civilian medical team that worked the city's hospital awaited his arrival. Even if she did follow them now, all she would be allowed to do was sit in the waiting room while they tried to stabilize him, and for hours afterwards. She had sent a runner to wake Gloria as soon as she had arrived back in camp, and at least Cal's daughter might have a shot at being allowed in with him sooner, being family.

As the ambulance pulled away, she ordered the remaining alchemists to go get wounds looked at, clean up, and change, and then meet her in their planning tent for the debriefing. The other alchemists would be there, and she had alerted Mihalov as well, so he could be present, and bring whichever of his military officers he saw fit to have present. She had left that decision up to him.

Having already changed into clean, warm uniform herself, Sara stopped off only long enough to request coffee and breakfast be sent to the alchemists' camp, and then returned. Within half-an-hour, all of the alchemists except Live Wire had gathered, and Mihalov joined them with one personal aide, and only his lead General present. :It seemed prudent to keep this small until we decide what to do with the information,: he commented as they all sat down around the table.

While Sara's team had already washed and eaten earlier, there was no surprise that they were still hungry enough to eat again, especially Rapid and Glacier, who dug into the warm pastries, eggs, and coffee with the same vigor as the retrieval team, who ate like ravenous wolves.

The General and aide looked a bit startled at the lack of decorum. Mihalov just seemed amused. :Alchemy burns a lot of personal energy,: he explained casually. :Four or five times as much as a normal soldier uses in combat on their most active missions.:

:That is correct,: Sara nodded approvingly. "All right then, we'll be doing this in Amestrian. First, for your sake, I'd like to sum up the initial plan in detail." She proceeded to give Mihalov and the other Drachmans precisely that, and what they had anticipated, and their strategy and reasoning behind it. This brought a lot of very wide eyes, and some skepticism from the General.

"Fortunately for us, and for you really," Sara went on, "it worked. The entire Zinovek camp has been beaten down and buried by a hurricane-force blizzard, leaving it under four or more feet of snow. Right now, they should still be far more focused on digging themselves out and surviving than attacking in the immediate future." She described briefly how the four of them had created the storm and watched from the top of the hill, and what they had observed, before turning it over to Marble to report their experience from the ground. While it mostly tracked her own observations, there were many more details about the layout of the camp—what remained after the destruction—the location of the office, what they observed the Zinoveks doing on their way in and out, and everything through the frantic chase back to the river.

It was when Marble had finished the primary report that Sensation pulled out her pack, and opened it. "While we were in the General's office, I took the liberty of grabbing these." She pulled out and slid several thick folders of documents across the desk.

Sara watched several pairs of eyes widen even as she stared at the files themselves. "What's in them?" she asked.

Mihalov had already pulled them to him first and was flipping through them, his expression growing eager and excited. "Battle plans, supply inventories, officer rosters, a detailed accounting of every tent, vehicle, and piece of ammunition in their camp… even documentations of communications from Petrayevka." He closed the last file, shared a glance with the General, and stood. "This is incredible. You've given us invaluable information. I hope you'll excuse me, but we need to have a meeting now and figure out how we're going to act on this information… while they are scattered, snowbound, and vulnerable."

"Of course. We understand." Sara assured him. "Send for us if you need us."

"I will." Then Mihalov excused himself and the Drachmans left.

"They're not really going to make us fight again today are they?" The question came from Glacier.

"It is unlikely, but possible," Sara acknowledged. "If they choose to take the advantage, we've given them and attack, they will need us to remove the barrier in the pass. They would be fools _not_ to press the attack today, take the pass, and secure the base in the valley. Eat, sleep, hydrate, and be ready if we're needed. That's all we can do for the next few hours." Sara took a long slow sip of her coffee. Her own catnap had been brief and she knew she was going to crash hard when she did. Right now though, that was not an option. "Excellent work, Alchemists. Dismissed."

As they stood and filed out of the tent, Trisha hung back for a moment. "You're going to the hospital."

"I am. I'm certain they won't tell me anything over the phone, and I need an update on Whitewater's condition." As an officer, as an Alchemist, as a friend…

Trisha nodded. "Let me know what you find out. Just, make sure you get some rest soon, too."

"Of course." There was no reason for them both to go, even though Sara was sure Trisha wanted to, even if it might be to check on Gloria as much as Cal.

They left together, but parted ways at the edge of camp. Sara took the sensible, if slightly self-serving, advantage of her rank to get an enlisted driver to give her a ride into town instead of making the fifteen-minute walk to the hospital on her own. However much better she was, her knee was giving her not-so-subtle warnings that she had pressed it to near the limits on this mission, and mountain-climbing should not be on her list of activities again in the immediate future.

By the time she arrived at the hospital, it had been almost three hours since she saw Cal only long enough to see the sleeping-bag wrapped body being hurried into the ambulance and rushed away. Without Live Wire at the debriefing, she knew only what little information she had been given about his situation that they could have guessed just based on the events of the past few days. It was a miracle he hadn't already died by the time they found him. It would still be a miracle if he lived.

The receptionist in the hospital lobby recognized her uniform for what it was, and when Sara announced herself, she was immediately given the floor to go to. Sara took the extra couple of minutes to wait for the elevator, and was unsurprised to find that the floor onto which she had come out was the intensive care ward, and that here there was another desk, and closed doors, and several pieces of furniture that looked only slightly more comfortable than that down in the regular waiting area. Clearly, they anticipated family and friends spending a decent amount of time in this waiting room.

At the moment, the only people in the room besides her were Gloria and Alexei, who were already looking her way, probably having heard the sound of her boots on the tile floor.

Gloria looked tired and impatient, and despite being impressively well put-together given the circumstances, for _her_ the younger woman looked frazzled. She stood as Sara approached and accepted her hug. "Thank you," were her first words. "Whatever happens, you and the other alchemists have already done the impossible."

"Well, the improbable," Sara stepped back again. "Has there been any news?"

"About an hour ago," Alexei answered. "They took him straight into the emergency room. We didn't even get to see him. So, we sat in the waiting room there for a while, and then they sent us up here, and we've been waiting."

"What did they tell you?"

"Not much." Gloria sat down again, and Sara did the same, on the opposite side from Alexei. "Almost all things we already knew or guessed, and they didn't want to give me any kind of predictions about survival." She took a deep breath. "He's in coma. He nearly drowned, and suffered from hypothermia at some point. He has several cracked and broken bones, and a back injury, though they aren't sure how badly. They said he has double-pneumonia. I… it's just so much. How he's _not_ dead…." She broke off, shaking her head. Alexei squeezed her hand. "All they would really say is they were still working to get him stabilized."

A horrifying summary, and Sara knew that the individual list of concerns would be far longer for the physicians; every break, every tear, every vital reading painstakingly noted and treated. The concerns of internal bleeding or organ damage from being dashed against the rocks, from nearly drowning, from whatever the Zinoveks might have done to Cal to try and get information out of him. There were many injuries and medical concerns on that list that any one singly might be a serious and life-threatening issue. All together… Sara was just grateful there were two alchemists in there with the physicians. "Doctor Von and Live Wire are both excellent healers," she said aloud. "I'm sure with the two of them, and an entire team of doctors, if he _can_ be stabilized, he will be."

Though it would be a long, anxious wait in the meantime. Sara knew that a strike against the Zinoveks was in planning at this very moment, and she would be stunned if it didn't move today. Still, no one came looking for her, and she saw no reason to wait anywhere else, so she stayed. When lunch came, she went and picked some up and brought it back for Gloria and Alexei so they didn't have to leave the waiting room and miss a possible update.

It was mid-afternoon when Trisha arrived with a report, which she handed Sara without a word. Wise, since speaking aloud in the hospital was not a secure location. Sara read it over quickly; a note from Mihalov himself that sketched out the plan of attack. The Western Drachman assault would begin just _after_ sunset. The only alchemical support needed—aside from medical once things got underway—was the quick removal of the remains of the massive pile of dirt, metal, and slag remaining from the failed Zinovek attempt to advance.

"Marble and I've got that part handled," Trisha said. "It's nothing you and Grandpa didn't teach us."

Transmuting it out of the way required energy, but minimal finesse compared to what they had pulled off this morning. "I'll leave it to you then. Keep me posted."  
Trisha was just turning to go when the doors through which they had not been allowed to step opened, and Live Wire came through them, looking around for only a moment before spotting them and coming directly over.

Gloria leaped to her feet. "How is he, Amalea?"

The Finn girl looked completely drained and pale, even for her usual pale complexion. "Stable, for now," she replied steadily. "He's still in a coma, but given what he's been through, being still and unconscious is what's keeping him alive. We've pumped the water out of his lungs again, put him on proper fluids, and antibiotics to treat the pneumonia and the bacteria in his wounds. When they pulled him from the river, the Zinoveks must have thought they could get information out of him, because the gash along his ribs, and on his forehead were both stitched up before we got there. I've checked them, and they're holding. Using alchemy we've managed to seal all external injuries, and stop the small amount of internal bleeding. Aside from the overall strain, his other organs are still functioning. He's also had a blood transfusion, and he's on oxygen for now. There are no major broken bones, though we had to heal a couple of cracked ones, and there are several ribs that are going to take another session or two to heal. He doesn't have the energy for that though, so they're going to have to wait."

All of that, and he was still just considered stabilized. Sara winced.

"What about the spinal injury?" Gloria pressed.

Live Wire's face fell. "There's nothing more we can do about it with alchemy. He's fortunate it wasn't completely severed, but while we could reinforce what's there, I can't transmute new cord. That, and the concussion, are going to have to heal as they can. While the concussion will with time… it's too early to tell if his spine will heal at all, and how much nerve damage was done, or if any signals from the brain are making it below that point.

"Where _is_ the injury?" Sara asked, more sharply than she'd meant to, but she had a sudden sense of foreboding.

"Mid-back," Live Wire replied. "He… right now he's paralyzed from just above the waist down."

Gloria gasped, and Alexei wrapped his arms around her as her eyes welled with tears.

"It may or may not be permanent," Live Wire continued. "There's just no way to know this soon, but if it can be repaired at all, it will require surgery, and he'll need to be in good enough condition for his body to handle the strain of going through it."

Which would take time. Sara was only too familiar with time. "Do they have a physician here who can do that kind of surgery?"

Live Wire shook her head. "No. He'll need to be transported to a bigger hospital. The best place, would be to send him back to Central as soon as he can withstand the stresses of flight."

An option that would have been impossible until recently. If they sent Cal back in one of the planes, he could be in the hospital in Central, with the best care possible, in just a couple of days. Weeks on the road would have made it all but impossible. Flying however…. "When he's safe to move, I want him—and you—on the next flight back to Central."

Live Wire blinked. "Me?"

"I'm not sending Drachman medics on an Amestrian aircraft into our Capitol city, and Von is fresh and just arrived. He can spell you for a few days. You will go along to keep him alive on the flight, then I want you on the next flight they send back up here."

"I'll warn Rothschild to be ready," Trisha spoke up.

"Good. Thank you." One less thing for Sara to keep track of for the moment.

With that, Trisha left.

"Are you still needed here?" Sara asked Live Wire.

The younger woman shook her head. "No. Von's handling any emergencies for the rest of the day. I was ordered off-duty until we're needed for combat duty."

Which would be coming. "Well, I'm backing up those orders. Go wash up, take care of your needs, and get some sleep while you can, Live Wire. Good work, and thank you."

"Just doing my duty, Ma'am." Live Wire replied, falling back on protocol. The girl really was tired. "They probably won't let any visitors in to see him yet, but they might tonight."

"I'm not going anywhere until I've seen him," Gloria replied firmly, then her expression faltered. Sara was sure she had remembered that she would still have to report on the news tonight, even if she had to leave before seeing him.

"I'm sure we'll see him before then," Alexei replied confidently.

"Probably. I'll go now." With a tired nod, Live Wire followed Trisha out.

Sara hoped she made it back to her tent before falling over. In all fairness, she should also go back to her tent and get some real sleep, along with a couple dozen other duties that fell in her lap now that she was the highest ranking active Amestrian Officer in Drachma. The next one was Trisha. She made a note to split her list of duties and assign anything that did not require her direct orders or involvement to her daughter for the time being, and consider what else could be delegated and to whom. "Do you need anything?" she asked Gloria and Alexei.

Gloria shook her head. "No. You've already done so much today. I promise I'll send you an update as soon as we've seen him."

"Thank you. Do you want to handle calling your mother, or shall I?"

"I'll do it," Gloria looked resolved. "It's best that all of this come from me. I'm not going to say much on tonight's broadcast about his condition until we have more certainty."

Wise. "You may also have bigger things to report soon." Sara left it vague, but hoped they caught her implication. "In fact, I'd count on it." 

* * *

_Author's Note: 3/21/2020 Greetings to all readers from my spot of the world. I hope everyone is safe and healthy. I and my family are fine, tucked away in our house. Most everything has shut down around here so there isn't anywhere to go anyway. So I am posting a couple of chapters tonight to add to the options for 'distractions and entertainment' on the internet._


	64. Chapter 64

**December 21** **st** **, 1990**

Trisha was grateful that the rest of the alchemists' role in the press on the Zinovek camp was not part of direct combat. As they had anticipated, Mihalov and his officers had several strategies already prepared for a variety of eventualities, and this was one of them. While they stood in reserve, just in case, Trisha and Marble made quick work of the mound of rubble blocking the highway that ran through the pass. It wasn't elegant, but they shoved it all to one side or the other, which would allow the Western Drachmans to move down without being impeded. She couldn't say the same for when they hit all the snow between them and the Zinovek camp, but she had been assured that they had thought of that and, lacking any flame alchemists, were planning to begin with projectile fire at distance, and clear their paths with flame-throwers as needed.

Trisha did not ask where they had found that many flame-throwers. In Drachma, she could only suppose they might be a more reasonable form of snow removal than hand-shovels. Still, she couldn't help thinking with a bit of smug pride that her husband would have made short work of all of the rubble _and_ the snow if he had been here.

So, she wasn't on the front lines when the Western Drachman army rolled over the Zinovek camp with less than an hour's warning. Even being able to see them coming, the Zinovek army had little time to put up much of a resistance. Or so she had to presume from the sounds of battle in the distance, and the radio reports back to camp. She found herself sitting in the main war tent with her mother and Gavril Mihalov, and tactical officers, listening to the results of their plan as they went into action.

While Trisha had functional Drachman, especially when the conversation was military or political, or basic small talk, her mother's fluency came in useful as they listed to reports backed by shouting and gunfire. The rest of the alchemists were there as well, mostly out of curiosity. Their plan had made this possible after all.

"They managed to dig out some firearms, but only one tank. The planes are buried under the snow and they've just taken control of that area."

"They should just destroy them," Glacier growled.

"Capturing them would be more useful," Molecule pointed out. "Then the Western Drachman army could train their own pilots and have their own aircraft."

"Which if they can do, they will," Mihalov nodded. "It takes them out of the enemy's hands, and gives us a chance at developing a real defense in the air. That is, if Amestris would be willing to train our pilots so they don't knock themselves out of the sky."

"I will speak with the government about that possibility," Sara replied.

Trisha knew that would be an interesting conversation, and even once her parents talked, it would have to go to council. That was certainly a step beyond the current agreement, though they would learn anyway eventually. Trisha and Rothschild could certainly teach the basics, but that would take more time.

Over the radio, the shouting continued, with reports coming in from what was quickly turning into an awkward rout; awkward because the enemy couldn't effectively run away, but a rout none-the-less. Trisha wondered at what point the Zinovek officers would realize that surrender might be a better alternative than death, or what would happen to them if they crawled back to Petrayevka in defeat.

* * *

Charlie had made sure not to be late for dinner every evening since the attack. Not that he could really tell Eli the truth of _who_ he was hoping for news about, or that the lovely Amestrian reporter was actually his older sister. Fortunately, the news was interesting enough that everyone in town was talking about it, and listening to the news at night. He could have listened over the radio at the bar, but somehow, he just needed to see his sister's face, so he could read in her expressions what wasn't being said.

So far at least his cover that a relative had been injured, and the natural interest everyone had in this just because of the history with Drachma, kept Eli from asking any weird questions about Charlie's interest and concern.

The grim reports of the past couple of days, mostly in the lack of further news on the missing General, had taken its toll on the older man as well, who had apparently decided they could both use something a little stronger tonight, and had pulled out a bottle of some very potent malt whiskey, intended for slow sipping.

Charlie held his glass, and waited anxiously for the program to swap over to coverage in Drachma.

Finally, the newscaster mentioned Drachma and passed it to Gloria, who appeared on the screen with the other international newscasters in the Drachman studio.

"Thank you, Jed," she replied as she looked at the camera, expression serious. "Tonight, we bring a breaking story that began this morning with a dramatic and brilliant action on the part of some of Amestris' finest. In the early hours before dawn, a team of Amestrian Alchemists made a subtle and successful incursion into the heart of the Zinovek camp, locating and rescuing General Calvin Fischer, the Whitewater Alchemist, retrieving him and bringing him out through several feet of snow that fell overnight over the valley in a severe and sudden storm. General Fischer is in the hospital and is in stable, but critical condition.

Taking advantage of the snow, Western Drachman troops have made an unprecedented dusk attack, and as we speak have taken the entire highway pass, and overtaken much of the Zinovek camp. Though at the moment, combat continues, a favorable outcome for Western Drachma is expected due to the damage already done to the Zinoveks by the weather. More as the story develops."

That was it, at least in Amestrian. The broadcast continued in the Drachman and Cretan, though as Charlie spoke neither, he wasn't certain how much was a repeat of the same report, and what other details might be covered. He was a little surprised that the Amestrian national station didn't cut back to more local news, but perhaps there was some deal with the other nations about broadcasting the entire thing in all three languages.

At least it gave him time to take it in. The broadcast had been so succinct, and lacking in specifics. His father was _alive!_ That was something at least, but critical condition with his father always seemed to mean something dire. Of course, they had said an explosion had blown him off a cliff, so he hadn't been expecting them to find him sitting somewhere drinking gin and playing cards with the enemy. That was it though, and almost nothing in his sister's expression which meant, knowing her, that the situation was bad. If she had been at all sure of their father's continued survival, there would have been some hope there. No, she was still trying to hold it together, and that couldn't be good.

"Finally, some real action," Eli commented as he turned down the volume. "It's about time we started making some headway."

Charlie stopped musing and sipped his whiskey, refraining from taking the glass down in one shot. "What you want to bet it was the State Alchemists' that kicked up that snow storm?" he suggested, making it sound like a casual spur-of-the-moment thought. In truth, he'd have bet solid money that Twilight and the rest of them were entirely behind it, even if he didn't know how they had done it.

"I wouldn't bet against that," Eli shook his head. "I had the same thought myself. No reason they couldn't; not with that General Heimler running the show. She survived eight years in Drachma prisons, comes home, gets her leg fixed up, and charges right back in like she was never gone. Always been like that, too. Bet it was her plan."

"I'll take your word for it," Charlie replied neutrally, as if it were no matter to him really and he didn't actually know much about her. He was young enough no one really expected him to know much about the careers of older political figures. "Wish they'd spent a little more time on what's really going on though."

"Probably military secrets." Eli shrugged, and sipped his whiskey. "Nothing they can tell us until after the mission's over anywise." He gave Charlie a side-eye then that made the younger man nervous. "I noticed you keep getting this look on your face when you look at that reporter. Don't suppose you fancy her, do you?"

Gloria? Charlie snorted, loudly. "Not at all," he replied honestly, relieved that was what Eli had thought it was. "She looks a bit too much like younger photos of my mother." If only Eli knew just how much.

Eli chuckled. "That'd be enough to put a man off." His expression sobered. "I guess you're not likely to hear much about your family member the way the news is going. Only the big names and big stories ever seem to get talked about."

That was the truth. "Yeah, probably," he acknowledged. Or at least, not any of the really pertinent details.

"You know, I won't hold it against you—or your pay—if you want to make a long distance call sometime and see if you're family's gotten word," Eli pointed out, his tone gently prompting.

"Thanks. I might take you up on that." Charlie had toyed with the idea on and off in his lonelier moments of calling someone, but he had never been able to decide who, or pull together the courage to do so. To find out about his father though… there might be someone who would give him answers without also screaming or going hysterical or giving him a lecture. Someone he might reliably catch at home. "Not tonight though. Bit late."

Eli nodded. "You know your family better than I do. Just don't wait too long. You don't want to miss anything important."

"I won't." Charlie finished the last of his glass and stood. "Think I'll turn in early tonight. G'night, Eli."

"G'night."

Charlie left out the back as usual, crossed the bit of yard to the shop, and went inside and upstairs, all the while thinking about the brief coverage, his sister's words, and his father, lying in a critical state in a Drachman hospital. He had no idea if his mother had even been called yet, though he could not imagine that _someone_ would not have contacted her by now, at least from the military, to tell her everything they could about his father's condition.

He didn't dare call his mother. The hysterics he would get aimed at him, both about his father and about his sudden exit months ago, wouldn't do either of them any good. Shelby was also right out.

As he got ready for bed, he seriously considered who he might call to get some real information; someone his mother would have talked to. Ideally someone who _might not,_ possibly, immediately tell his mother or Shelby that he had even reached out for news. It also had to be someone whose phone number he knew from memory. That made it a very short list.

For a moment, he toyed with the idea of trying his father's best friend, but he had a feeling that if he called the Clossons, the Shock Alchemist or his wife would feel obligated to tell his mother.

He had finished changing when he acknowledged there was really only one person he could call, and his best chance of catching him at home would be at night. His Uncle Will might be the only person who met the qualifications and even then, calling was a risk. He might get Aunt Ren; though he could always hang up if she picked up.

Before he could chicken out, Charlie slipped on his shoes again and went back downstairs to the shop to the phone. At least Eli wouldn't hear him down here, or overhear anything that might make him wonder. Calling this late had another advantage; it would likely be a very short conversation.

He dialed the number, and waited until he heard the phone ring. Charlie was not ready for someone on the other end to pick up the receiver immediately after. Then he heard, "Alyse, that was quick."

Charlie's tongue froze.

On the other end his uncle figured out it was not his sister. "Hello? Who is this?"

 _Don't be even more of a coward._ "It's me, Uncle Will." The voice sounded nervous, even to him.

" _Charlie_?"

"Yeah. I ah—I saw the news and I was hoping maybe you might know more than they're saying about Dad. Gloria's report tonight was really short."

For several seconds, he thought his uncle would ask him awkward questions, or shout, or ask why he hadn't called his mother. Finally, he spoke. "I just talked to your mom a little while ago. Gloria called her direct from Drachma earlier from Mihalov's offices, since it was the securest phone line." Another deep pause. "They're not sure he's going to make it, Charlie. He was blown up, almost drowned, and he's in a coma and sick with pneumonia in both lungs. And that's the short list. He's lucky he has two alkahestry trained alchemists up there or he'd have been dead already. _If_ they can get him stable enough to transport, they're going to try and fly him back to Central to the hospital here in the next few days."

That was it then. It was as bad as he's expected. They might have found his body, but his father's chances of survival were still almost nil. "Shit."

"That sums up pretty much everyone's feelings on that subject," his uncle quipped wryly.

Well that was it then, what he'd called to find out. "Uncle Will, could you do me a favor?"

"And not tell your mother you called?"

"Yeah. Or Shelby…or anyone."

"That's a tall order." His uncle sighed. "You know they're still worried sick about you. If I told them I'd talked to you in person, at least they might be a little more assured of your well-being and continued survival."

"I know it's a selfish request," Charlie admitted. He just wasn't ready yet. "You think I should come home, don't you?"

"I think you need to get your shit together." Will surprised him. "If that's what you're doing, then good. If you can't… well, maybe it's better if you don't, honestly, but if that's what you choose to do, it's not fair to your parents, or your wife and kids, not to at least give them some kind of solid closure. It may already be too late to say anything you wanted to say to your father."

So, he'd noticed. Charlie swallowed his pride. "How is Shelby?"

" _That_ is something you should be asking her, not me. But I'll ask you something, how do you expect her to feel? Raising four kids by herself, working, still going to school, and all of that wondering what she did to make you run away."

"But she didn't—"

"Don't tell me," Will cut him off sharply. "Tell _her._ "

It had taken all of his strength of will to call his uncle at all. Charlie couldn't imagine picking up the phone and calling Shelby right now. Then something his uncle had said sunk in. "What do you mean _four_ kids?"

There was an irritated sound on the other end, and Charlie wondered if Will hadn't meant to say it. "Right after you left, Shelby found out she's pregnant."

His stomach twisted, and fell through the floor. "I had no idea."

"I know that. Look, Charlie, I don't know if you'll believe me or not, but I'm glad to hear from you. Everyone's been worried sick about you, because no matter what, your family still loves you. So, whenever you're ready, you can still come home. Until then… you can always call me."

There was a salty wetness on his cheeks. "Thanks, Uncle Will." Even if his uncle was only saying it because he hoped to get more information about Charlie, at least he wasn't pushing, and it told him something he hadn't wanted to let himself belief—that he might still have the option of going home again. Nothing would be the same, but it was there. "Sorry I called so late."

"It's fine. Lucky for you, Ren's working late."

Very lucky. "I'll let you go, Uncle Will. Thanks for telling me…everything."

"Anytime, Charlie."

Charlie hung up the phone, and leaned back against the wall for a moment, waiting for the flood of emotions he had been holding back to rush over him, then subside again. It was a lot to absorb all at once; his father probably wasn't going to make it, his family still worried about him, they hadn't moved on without him the way he'd expected… and Shelby. _Damn it, Shels, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. If I had…_ But what would he have done? Would he have stayed? He couldn't honestly say that it would have made it easier. It just made him feel horribly guilty all over again. Not like it ever really stopped.

Could he go on like this? Hiding in the back end of nowhere, burying himself in work, but afraid to really break free and start over. He couldn't see himself marrying again, or purposefully having more children. He had tried that, and so far all he had done was mess up their lives. His lack of impulse control had shredded his relationship with Shelby. His lack of self-confidence rendered him useless as a parent. He hadn't been able to work.

Well, he could probably go back to work now, physically. He wasn't fast, but he was more dexterous with his hand after a few short months of car mechanic work than the exercises they'd had him doing for physical therapy. His arm still ached, but not all the time.

That didn't come anywhere close to fixing the rest of it.

Which left him wondering, did he want to fix it? Messed up as he'd been feeling, it was still his life. After what his uncle had said it sounded like there might be a slim chance of patching things up with at least most of his family.

He was not convinced that Shelby would ever forgive him though, or even that she should. Still, if they didn't talk again, it would never be settled between them in either direction. It would keep her from being able to move on, and be with someone else if that was what she chose.

The insides of his guts twisted at the idea of Shelby falling in love with someone else. With Abigail smiling at some other guy and calling him daddy…

Laying down in the dark, he stared at the ceiling, unable to stop his mind from spinning a narrative of what-if, where he was replaced by a faceless but handsome, successful man—some academic she met in one of her classes, maybe a teaching assistant graduate student—who was organized, intelligent, mentally stable… while Charlie spent the rest of his life alone in the back-end-of-nowhere. And it might have been the whiskey, and the conversation, but he wanted to take the imaginary man muscling in on his life around the throat, and throttle him.

If nothing else, there was clearly no way to get over a woman like Shelby. He couldn't do it, and he was certain he never would.

 **December 22** **nd** **, 1990**

"I told you Alyse, the answer is no."

Staring at Franz across his living room despite the early morning hour, her hands clenched in a fury he had never seen, Alyse Fischer glowered at him. For a moment, he wasn't sure she wasn't going to deck him. "You are, perhaps, the ultimate hypocrite, Franz Heimler," she replied in a tone that could have scalded ice. "Running off into Drachma, heedless of military rules or Amestrian law on the merest rumor of Sara's survival… and yet you won't consider the decency of transporting me to the side of my husband, who is _still alive_ but may never come home.

"It's not that I don't want to," Franz continued, trying to appease her. While he had expected to hear from her—and was frankly surprised she had waited until morning at all—he had not expected to have her knocking on his door while he was still barely dressed and eating his breakfast with his family. Thankfully—or perhaps in the name of self-preservation on their part—James and Krista had vanished upstairs with Aithne to finish getting ready for the day. "You have to know that."

"Then what's keeping the President of the Amestrian Military from putting a General's wife who has _worked for the military_ on a supply plane that's going north anyway?"

"The fact that right now everything is grounded due to unstable weather conditions."

Alyse stopped halfway across the space between them one finger in the air, and stared at him as if he'd just announced that dogs could knit. Her anger deflated. "Oh."

"The alchemy Sara and her team used to create the storm that they used to rescue Cal had farther reaching consequences than expected. Nothing catastrophic, but it disrupted the natural weather patterns, and the weather being reported between here and there includes little to no visibility and a lot of wind at the altitudes we would need for flying, as best we can get reports. Even if it's clear here, we can't guarantee a plane will be able to get there and land safely. That's why our best plan is to wait until there's a good time to take off from there, and have a pilot fly the return trip back to Central with Cal as soon as he's stable enough to survive the trip."

Alyse had never been a stand-by-and-do-nothing kind of woman, and watching her realize that there really was nothing she could do—no way she could get to where she desperately needed to be—was heart wrenching. Franz completely understood her feelings, but he could not send her into the air when it might get her, and a pilot, killed, and one of their few precious planes destroyed. Driving there was pointless. It would take so long that Cal would either be dead, or already removed and flown back to Amestris.

She sank backwards, lowering onto the edge of the couch, and Franz could sense the war of emotions inside. He'd felt them before. The fury, the fear, the hatred of futility and being unable to act, to affect the outcome. "You will keep me appraised of every piece of information you get concerning Calvin."

"Of course." He could promise that much, at the very least. "He has a dedicated medical team doing everything they can to keep him alive, Alyse. We have to trust that if he _can_ survive, they will make sure he does."

Her eyes were gleaming with unshed tears. "If he wakes up before he comes home, you _will_ put me on the phone with him."

"I will." There would be a way to manage it. Franz did not say he didn't expect Cal to wake up in the next couple of days.

Alyse nodded. "Thank you, Franz. I'm sorry for interrupting your breakfast… and for yelling." She stood up slowly. "I'll get out of your way."

He couldn't stay too angry. "You're forgiven. I need to go." He had to get back to work and find out how the battle in Drachma had gone overnight. Only his son and daughter-in-law's demands that he come home and sleep like he'd promised Sara had convinced him to leave the office last night.

"Of course. Talk to you soon." Alyse backed out of the room and let herself out.

Franz sighed, and went to get his uniform jacket. With any luck, he would arrive to good news. They could all really use some good news.

* * *

The battle was over before sunrise. It was an hour after breakfast when Sara and the other alchemists arrived in the valley via transport truck to assist with clean-up operations.

Twenty-eight hours ago, the area had been a well-ordered professional military encampment. Not long after that, it had become a blizzard-wrecked landscape, and now it was a trampled disaster. Not a single tent remained standing, and most of them and the structures erected to hold supplies were scorched and blackened, as well as soaked. The tanks were smoking husks, and the planes under Western Drachman guard.

:Do we have any idea on numbers?: she asked the Colonel who met them as they got out of the truck.

:We have taken over two-thousand prisoners,: the Colonel replied. :Estimated casualties on their side are around four-thousand. They retreated and have continued marching back towards the highway. We've got vehicles following and it looks like they're already eight miles out.

:And our losses?:

:Four-hundred-and-five dead, about nine-hundred wounded."

:Thank you, Colonel: All in all, not bad at all. The body count would have been much higher if they had kept beating on each other in that pass for months.

:Thank you, General Heimler. It's my understanding you are responsible for making this attack possible.:

:We are.: There was no need or room for unnecessary humility here. :This is what State Alchemists are for. If you'll excuse us, we've been asked to assist with salvage and clean-up.: Anything that could be retrieved was beneficial to the cause. It would also make it that much harder for Savahin to send a military to retake the camp. He would have to send fresh supplies that they hoped he could not afford.

"I'm going to take a look at those planes." Trisha turned and jogged off.

Sara turned to the rest. "Marble, Glacier, Molecule, and Rapid, assist with moving debris and making sure all the fires are out. If you can, transmute the ash into something useful. They may also want some help burying the dead. Sensation, come with me to the office and you can show me where you found those documents. Maybe we can find other information we can use." Live Wire was still up the hill. She and Von were hard at work healing the wounded and saving lives.

She got a chorus of yes ma'ams and nods, and the rest scattered to their business. Sara turned and let Sensation lead the way to the remnants of the General's office. The building had gone up in flames, but beyond it, through the rubble, Sara could see the entrance to the cave. It was back there, where she hoped he had kept more important things besides Cal.

"This is where I found those papers," Sensation confirmed as they ducked inside. The morning light didn't reach into the cave. Sara pulled out a flashlight and shone it around the dim space. There was a desk, and a portable filing cabinet. A table with maps and markers still stood, though it looked like whatever battle plan had been laid out had been disturbed in the chaos.

There was a table on which she saw dried blood. A table large enough to hold a single human being.

"That's where we found Whitewater," Sensation confirmed.

Sara's jaw tightened. "Let's take everything we can find." She turned away from the table, and focused her attention on the papers that were not so obvious as the ones the other alchemist had taken off the desk. Flipping through the documents, she quickly identified communications documents, now-irrelevant manifests of supplies that mostly no longer existed, records of the soldiers in each unit, and a variety of other information that may or may not be useful. Sara took it all. Let the Western Drachman military sort out what they could use. Pulling out a small camera she had brought specifically for documentation, she took pictures of everything on the table exactly as it had been laid out, even scattered, before gathering up the maps and rolling them into a map case. She took the surveillance photos off the walls. Sensation had found a camera and several undeveloped rolls of film. A stack of recorded radio transmission tapes. They took those, too.

There was no communication equipment in the cave itself, and a quick check showed that the rest of the office had been effectively destroyed, even when they used alchemy to clear out the worst of the wreckage. "I think that's everything we're going to find."

Sensation nodded. "It's quite a lot though. Mihalov and his officers will probably be able to make more sense of what is useful than we will."

Sara nodded. "Let's take this back to the truck and deliver it into their waiting hands then." Anything that would help them make this more than a single victory would be worth it. She wished she could be a fly on the wall to hear Savahin's reactions to the utter demolition of a portion of his forces. There was still combat with the combined Western Drachman/Cretan/Kartosians in the South, and the stand-off in the North, where Ted's team had wrought similar havoc. That was a much smaller force, but they had also backed off. Her nephew's harebrained ideas had worked impressively well, and the Zinovek forces up there had backed off and seemed to have taken up a defensive position. Since the Western Drachmans had no interest in invading the valley—certainly not up in the mountains—as long as both forces were there, likely it would be quiet for the foreseeable future. Though she didn't know how long they would want to leave Ted's team up there.

 _At least until Western Drachma has a few alchemists of their own._

That was the answer. Sara made note to talk to Mihalov about that as well. It was time to start training some new alchemists.

* * *

Amalea was beginning to wonder if she would ever really sleep soundly again. Aside from the short term lack of sleep from being on duty either in the field hospital, helping save the lives of the most critically wounded Drachman soldiers, or here in the city hospital, taking her turn at monitoring Whitewater and remaining nearby should her services be needed, after the things she had seen since coming to Drachma, she wasn't certain she would ever have a peaceful night's sleep again.

 _I knew that would happen when I decided to take my medical training and become a State Alchemist, like daddy._ Her father still had nightmares about his war experiences, decades later. Now, she would too.

It was that way for all soldiers, she had learned, though it wasn't as bad for some as others, depending on their personality, and their experiences. Everyone dealt with the traumas of death and destruction differently. It made her wonder how the rest of the alchemists who had come up here with her handled it. Whitewater, Twilight, and Genesis had bought fought in the Drachman War. Whisper had been on many dangerous missions, even if this was the first in what was technically a wartime situation. Proteus and some of the others had been in Xing, though not on the same team yet. As a team they had been into Drachma much earlier in the year too. Surely, they all had ways of dealing with it.

Right now, all she could do was keep focused on her work, even when that work was the stuff of nightmares. At the moment, she sat at Whitewater's bedside, on vigilant duty in case her skills were needed. They had an alchemist with him in the room at all times right now. Just two hours ago he had de-stabilized, and it had taken her and the entire medical team assigned to him to keep him alive. He still hadn't woken up, and based on the readings from the monitors they had him hooked up to, he wouldn't be in the immediate future. At least, for now, his heart was beating slowly, but consistently. His breath was much the same, and she could watch the subtle rise and fall of his chest. It was very subtle.

Without the readings he looked convincingly dead. Even with them, he looked terrible. Tubes ran in and out of him, providing hydration, the nutrients needed to keep him alive, strong antibiotics to deal with the infection in his lungs. Whitewater's body underneath the sheets was a mass of bandages and bruises, though Amalea took a little time and energy each time she used alchemy at regularly scheduled intervals to check his vitals and systems on a deeper level than the monitors, she worked a little on healing the small things. It wasn't much, but it was a little less energy his body had to expend on healing, which it wouldn't do while it was struggling merely to survive. So while he still looked an unhealthy washed-out color, and older than she had ever thought of him, much of his bruising had faded from the ugly blacks and purples through greens, to patches of yellow. The minor ones were gone all together, and the smaller cuts and lacerations from hitting the rocks had closed. The ones that had required stitches no longer strained or stretched.

Yet all those little things might be useless in the end. Still, she refused to give up. There was no way she was going to let her first lost patient be this one.

There was a knock on the hospital room door, and then it opened, and Noroki Von joined her. "Shift change," he quipped with a strained smile. "How is he?"

"No change since we got him stabilized earlier." Amalea stood up and vacated the chair beside the bed, stifling a yawn. "It's all on the charts. They'll be coming in to check his bandages and add the next dose of antibiotics in a couple of hours."

Von nodded. "I'll take it from here then, and hopefully we won't have any more exciting moments. You've got a ride back to camp waiting outside."

"Thank goodness." She was tired enough; the prospect of walking back had been more than a little daunting. Falling asleep on the road was a terrible idea. As it was, she was yawning as she made it downstairs and out the door to the hospital parking lot.

It was easy to find her ride. A military vehicle was parked outside. More the surprise was the fact that the Rapid Alchemist was driving. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I can't be nice?" Wilkes grinned at her. "I got off duty and thought I'd come check on things. So, I brought Von back."

"Well, thank you." Amalea opened the door and got in. It was only after she sat down that she saw what looked like a take-out cup of coffee and a wrapped sandwich on the dash board. "Is that for me?"

Now he looked a little sheepish. "I thought you might be hungry. I didn't feel like more mess chow, and I thought you might like some real food, so I swung by this little shop down the road on the way. I realized I have no idea what you like really, so I hope I guessed right."

"Right now, I'm so hungry it could probably be made with ketchup and sawdust and I'd eat it," Amalea admitted as she finished buckling, and picked up both items, trying not to look flustered. "This is really nice of you."

"And again, you sound surprised. Am I not that nice?"

"I'm sorry." Amalea felt herself blush this time. "That's not how I meant it to sound."

"It's okay. Honestly, I shouldn't be teasing you. You've got to be exhausted." He put the car in drive, and pulled away from the hospital. "Just be sure you tell me if you like this stuff, or if there's something you don't, so I know better."

Amalea smiled, grateful she didn't have any food allergies, so those weren't a concern. "I'm sure it's great." She started with the coffee, mostly because she wasn't sure she'd be awake enough to eat the sandwich if she didn't. She was startled by a jolt of flavor as she sipped a rich, dark drink that tasted sort of like coffee, but also heavily of chocolate and caramel, and it was thick and incredibly creamy. "Wow!"

"That's what I got," Wilkes commented, grinning even as he kept his eyes on the road. A fact Amalea appreciated. "They offer it with a shot of vodka too, but I thought that might be a bad idea on little sleep. Also…driving."

"It's better without it," Amalea assured him. He was right. A shot of anything in her present frame of mind and she'd probably pass out before she got to her bed. Not that she ever drank much of anything. "Which is to say, it's delicious." She took another couple of sips, then set it down on the cup-holder in the center and unwrapped the sandwich, taking a bite to find rich thinly-sliced roast corned beef, tomatoes, lettuce, a tangy white cheese she wasn't familiar with, and a light creamy dressing on a thick dark bread roll. She had to swallow before she could get out the words "oh my gosh that's good!"

"I'm glad. I was really worried you'd turn out to be a vegetarian or something and I'd somehow missed it."

"Nope, I'll eat just about anything," Amalea admitted. "Though it helps when it's made well. I'm impressed they had vegetables this fresh."

"Someone said the town has greenhouses," Wilkes informed her as they paused at a stop light. "That's probably the only reason they have them right now, but it's totally worth it."

"Agreed."

She ate in quiet, and he didn't try to push conversation, as they made the rest of the drive back out of the city and through the military camp to the alchemists' camp. By the time they arrived, she had finished her food.

"Here we are." He parked next to the tent. "Twilight told me to tell you that you don't have a shift in the hospital tent until late afternoon, so I'd recommend getting some sleep while you can."

"I intend to," Amalea assured him. It felt like it should still be late night, but the sun was up and the camp was bustling. "I've got to be at my best later. I can't afford to make any mistakes. Not with any of the soldiers or… Whitewater." She shuddered slightly, thinking of how close they had come to losing him again last night.

She caught Wilkes watching her. "Amalea I… okay this is probably going to sound corny, but I hope you know that what you do is really incredible."

That… had not been what she was expecting this morning. After a moment, Amalea realized her mouth had fallen open. "It's just my job… what I'm trained to do," she pointed out, objecting mildly.

"That doesn't make it any less amazing. Most of us change stuff around with our alchemy. We can make new things, we can blow things apart, we can push stuff around. You save people's lives. I saw what Whitewater looked like when he got here. The fact he's not dead yet is entirely because of you, and that's pretty incredible. You're pretty incredible."

She was also blushing furiously hot. "Thanks, Ryan. That… honestly that makes me feel a little better," she found herself admitting. "I haven't really felt like I've been much use on a lot of this mission. Sure, I'm trained in combat like all of us, but it's not really my strong suit. I'm so worried, and last night we almost lost him again, and I just feel so _useless_ that there's not more I can do."

"You're an alchemist, not a miracle worker." He reached out, and gave her hand a squeeze. "Don't doubt yourself, Amalea. What you're doing is already more than all the rest of us could do for him combined. Sure, we created a storm, and the rest of you hauled him out of there, but we could have done that much even if he had already died. You're the reason he's alive."

Flustered, she managed a smile. "And that only makes me _pretty_ incredible?" she managed to tease.

He looked startled, then chuckled. "Actually, it makes you pretty…and incredible."

For just a moment, she thought she might die from blushes, but then she remembered who she was talking to. Ryan Wilkes might mean it, but he was also an incurable flirt. It came to him as naturally as breathing. All of this, was a compliment, but nothing more. "Well, thank you," she replied, reining in her emotions. "For everything this morning. I mean it." She had finished the food. She picked up her half-drunk coffee as she unbuckled and opened the door. "Good…well not night. Good morning."

Wilkes looked just a little surprised, but he nodded. "Good morning. See you later."

Amalea walked the few yards to her tent, and ducked inside. Inside, she finished the last drops of her drink. Setting the cup down on the tiny table next to her cot, she made herself pull off her boots, and change out of her uniform into her flannel uniform pajamas, which she covered with a thick fluffy sweater she'd brought from home. Only then did she allow herself to collapse, curling up in her sleeping bag and burying her head to keep warm and block out enough light to sleep. Ryan's comments floated in her head, and she felt warm, if slightly bemused. She was certain he had meant the compliments, but was he flirting, or just being genuinely nice? She couldn't imagine why he'd be interested in _her_ of all people. It was probably the latter. As team mates it was important that they support each other, and it had definitely been a nice confidence boost.

As she dozed off, she wondered if he ever bought anyone else on the team coffee.


	65. Chapter 65

**December 23** **rd** **, 1990**

It was amazing how quickly things could come together these days, with the convenience of air travel, Ted thought as he sat in a tent next to his aunt Sara, in the main military camp outside Holavon. The Northern pass, which they had secured days ago, could do without State Alchemists for the time being. If this worked, they would be replaced with Western Drachman Alchemists, and the Amestrians would make themselves less necessary.

His aunt had sent Rothschild and his plane up for them with only the briefest explanation that they were putting the next part of her plan into motion and she wanted them available for instruction. Particularly Ted and Felix, but all of them would be useful. Also, having Pulse back would give Live Wire and Dr. Von more of a break and much needed help with healing the wounded, and keeping an eye on Whitewater, who despite care was still in a coma.

Today it would be himself, Felix, Trisha, and Sara beginning the primary instruction of the group that had been assembled based on recommendations, and chosen as the most promising to be alchemists. This consisted at the moment of a class of twenty. Not all of them would have what it took most likely, but it was a start. They were a wide mix of people, based on the short bios and information that had been provided to the State Alchemists; of them, only ten were military, the other all civilians. Two had medical background, another three were chemists, and one an engineer. All of them scored well on evaluations involving scientific principals and logic, and based on what background checks they had been able to do giving limited capabilities, they were all of fairly sound moral principles.

That last had been one of Aunt Sara's sticking points. Drachma did not need any more crazy unethical alchemists experimenting on people in its mountains. At least, not ones trained by Amestris. This was hardly going to be as comprehensive as the program at home, but then it didn't really need to be. Only five of the people in front of them, all older gentlemen, had been used as alchemy pawns in the last war. As it turned out, very few of those men wanted that ability back or anything to do with it. The five here were a tiny number who had honestly been interested in alchemy, with the scientific curiosity that outweighed the trauma of their past experiences.

:Good morning,: Sara began, addressing the room. :Today we will begin the assessment and training for you to become the first group of Western Drachman alchemists. Your training will consist of a basic, comprehensive knowledge of the basics, and several functional techniques that you can use to protect and support your comrades once you are able to use what you know. Alchemy is a discipline, and while I am grateful to all of you for volunteering, you will find that not everyone has an aptitude or ability for alchemy. There is no shame in this. I expect that all of you will work hard and put in your best effort. This is not the time or place for egos or expectations. If you have questions, ask them. Doing alchemy incorrectly, or attempting the wrong transmutations, can be life-threatening.:

When she finished the basic introduction, and had each of the new potential alchemists introduce themselves and their specialties, they moved on to the first assignment, which was actually a pre-test to determine their level of scientific knowledge. While they were starting at the very beginning, if they did not have to begin with elementary level information it would go much faster. Ted knew that really, his aunt's plan was to get them to understand safety, the principals of how alchemy worked, and learn one or two useful transmutations. Further education could come later as long as they had that down. In his mind, it was basically the first few chapters of _Fundamentals of Alchemy_ crammed into however quickly they could teach it. As no Drachman translations of that text existed, they were going to have to translate several concepts into Drachman.

The test took an hour, then while the men and women took a short break, the alchemists scored them and discussed where to go next. Thankfully, it appeared that all of them had a grasp of basic minerals and how chemical reactions took place, as well as the ideas of conservation of mass and related principals. So at least they didn't have to begin with baby steps.

Trisha took the first lesson, which made sense in Ted's mind, since she had been running this training for several years. Over the rest of the morning, their students took extensive notes and asked a wide variety of questions over transmutation circles and how they worked, and then after lunch, got to try their hands at drawing their first transmutation circles. For the moment everyone was learning the same simple starter circles. Specialization would occur as particular talents were discovered.

At that point, they were all involved, circling the room, making suggestions or necessary corrections, until everyone had functional circles. Then, and only then, did they get to try their first incredibly simple transmutations.

Given the lack of materials for anything complex, they had been provided a circle and an object for repairing. Practical alchemy instead of starting from a pile of elements. In this case, each of them had objects with the same chemical make-up, various broken metal pieces of car parts from the vehicles in camp. All things that could be used again once repaired, instead of having to find and purchase replacements. Most of them had a single obvious break. Only one or two had multiple pieces.

The group was broken down into smaller groups at that point, each one assigned to a State Alchemist to watch over five and offer correction—or protect everyone if something actually went wrong. Though Ted doubted that was likely. Most beginner alchemists if they failed at some part of transmuting, just had nothing happen.

Ted's group turned out to be a mixed bag. Four of them managed to get energy circulation. Of those four, three managed to effect change on their items. Only one of them had a perfectly complete item when it was done. :Nice work,: he commented over her shoulder. :Believe it or not, all of your attempts were good for a first try. Remember that the real key is on not thinking too much about every single molecule individually, but to visualize the object in its complete form. These are all familiar parts. Now, let's try it again."

By the end of the day, four of his five had successfully repaired two or three vehicle parts. One, despite trying his best, had barely managed to get even a trickling of energy to come. Ted had assured him that most alchemists took time, and not to be too discouraged. They would be trying again tomorrow. Since the other man was a soldier, and orders kept him from quitting until the end of the first training, and then only if dismissed as inadequate, he would have to try again anyway.

"Well, that was quite a day," Felix commented from across the dinner table in the mess later.

Ted nodded, chewing the large mouthful of mashed potatoes mixed with ham and cheese that was dinner he had just shoveled in his face. The State Alchemists had demonstrated the alchemy principals several times themselves, and while it wasn't nearly his normal energy expenditure, he was hungry. Teaching was hard work. "How many do you think are going to make it?"

Felix shrugged. "Out of the five I had today, only one has any real talent for it, but two more might be able to put in enough work to make it. The last two… honestly, they may be hopeless, but I'll keep working with them anyway. They just might need a little more support at the beginning. Though if we have to keep up this pace they probably won't make it."

"I don't like having to teach this quickly," Trisha admitted, "But it's necessary if we're going to bolster numbers, and give them something to work with whenever we go home. We aren't here to win this war for them, just help them shore up their borders and become legitimately separate. The rest of the resistance's plans are up to the Drachmans." She gave Ted a warning look.

Ted knew why. His father-in-law was still over in the Eastern mountains, and was the other half of the pincer-attack that Marskaya and Mihalov had planned. Since he'd already run off AWOL once to help the Drachman Resistance, he was only here on very specific orders because he was useful. He gave her a roll of his eyes, a look that said without bringing it up out loud that he had no intention of screwing things up, no matter how he felt about the political situation in Drachma. Anika and their son were safe in Amestris. General Marskaya could handle himself. "It's a solid plan," he commented neutrally. "They'll manage. Especially if we do our part right." So far, they were succeeding. It was time to change the subject. "Has anyone heard anything from home?" He had been rather hoping there might be letters that had made it at least this far, or even a telegram.

His hope fell as those around him shook their heads. "Nothing outside of official reports, or occasional words from Dad," Trisha replied. "All he's said is that everyone back home is fine, so I suppose this is one of those few occasions where a lack of news is good, just because it means nothing bad has happened."

That was something at least. "Is there any way to call home from here?"

"There's one secure line in Mihalov's offices, but as you can imagine, getting permission to use it at any time is pretty difficult."

Of course, and calling on a non-secure line was asking for trouble, even if it was a family call. Ted sighed. "So much for that idea. Is there a chance of at least sending letters home soon?"

Trisha nodded. "As soon as Whitewater is stable enough for it, we're sending a plane back with Rothschild, and Live Wire will be on it to keep him alive if needed. The hospital in Central is his best hope. You can at least guarantee your letter will get home quickly. So, if you've got something _romantic_ you want to get out, I'd get it written down." She grinned. "I'm sure Anika would like to hear from you."

"I'll make sure they're on the plane." Ted ignored her expression. Leaving Anika alone in Amestris so quickly had never been part of his plan; of their plan. Not that _anything_ in their relationship seemed to be planned on anything other than very short notice. He already had several pages of letter written to her from his time here. He just needed an envelope to stuff it all in. "Not that I'm the only one who owes his wife a love letter."

Felix shrugged, unabashedly. "I've got a nice long one ready to go. Really, what I owe her when I get home is a nice long vacation and about a million loads of laundry."

"True romantics." Trisha looked amused as she turned back to her food.

"What about you, Rapid?" Ted glanced at the other alchemist sitting diagonally across from him. "You got someone at home?"

The younger alchemist, who had been staring somewhat distractedly into his plate, blinked and looked over at him. "What? Oh, no. Not anyone special anyway." He shrugged, and flashed a smile that was more confident than the statement. "Plenty who'd probably like a letter though."

Exactly the kind of response Ted would usually expect from one of his fellow soldiers, especially popular ones like Rapid, who was known for drawing far more than his fair share of female attention. Rapid and Glacier both. Maybe it was something to do with water alchemists. He had heard that Whitewater had been the same way, though obviously that was well before he'd met Alyse. Ted could absolutely imagine his superior officer as having been incredibly popular with women. He also could never imagine Cal Fischer looking at anyone other than his wife with the adoration and admiration he obviously had for her.

Exactly the response he'd expect, except that he didn't buy it. "Or is it someone local who has you distracted?" Ted found himself asking. He would hardly be the first soldier who had ever fallen for someone out in the middle of a war zone.

Rapid snorted and shook his head. "No. Seriously, I'm not that stupid." Then his eyes widened. "I'm sorry, Proteus… Sir. I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did," Ted cut him off, enjoying watching the other alchemist squirm a little in his chair. "Getting romantically involved with a foreign girl in war time is just about the most foolish thing a man can do—despite how often we alchemists seem to be fools that way—besides falling for another soldier; something else we State Alchemists are notorious for."

Beside him, Trisha sniffed.

"Not that I think it counts if the interest predates joining the military," Ted went on as if he hadn't noticed. There was definitely a long run of military relationships on both sides of _that_ family. "Though there's nothing wrong with that either really." He left the statement hanging. There was something about Rapid's reaction that had him suspicious that his interests—

However long they lasted—might have landed one on of the _many_ female alchemists on this mission.

Rapid did not take the bait, though his grin was a little less sure as he shrugged. "I'm pretty sure they don't care so long as it doesn't mess with the chain of command."

A line that got really fuzzy on many occasions, even in his own family. Ted decided not to press the matter, especially not here in the middle of the mess tent. As long as it wasn't causing problems among the alchemists as a team, it didn't really matter. "Lucky for us." He went back to his food. As soon as dinner was over things would be back to business as usual. With all of the alchemists here, they were changing up the shifts. It didn't matter that the Zinovek forces had been trounced and retreated more than fifty miles away before stopping. If Savahin had more planes, he could send them from all the way in Petrayevka, and the alchemists needed to be prepared and on the watch. Those shifts now consisted not only of at least one active artillery team at all hours, and a couple dozen soldiers on watch all around the area, but pairs of State Alchemists. Tonight, Ted had first watch teamed up with Misty Parkwaller, the Marble Alchemist. He would get her to fill him in on anything he might want to know about the rest of the team, and what had happened while he was further north.

He hoped for a quiet evening. It would be much preferable to catch up on gossip and get the rescue story first-hand than to deal with the enemy.

* * *

Franz felt mildly guilty about working late, but it was honestly quieter in his office than it was at home these days, particularly before Aithne went to bed. With people in the house, on top of the puppies and kittens, there was just no quite while his granddaughter was up. When she was up, she wanted to play with the puppies, which riled up the puppies, who then chased the kittens, and evenings were often spent in a state of animal excitement. While Franz loved his family—and the four furballs Sara had brought home, and normally did most of the work with—it was not conducive to focusing. He _would_ go home tonight, just _after_ things quieted down. The pile of work on his desk these days was reminiscent of Roy Mustang's days, and that was _with_ Franz doing his best to keep up with it all, and delegating to his staff everything he could.

Staying in the office also meant every one of his calls could be routed through someone in the office first, saving him a lot of headache. Not enough, but some.

If only it saved on anxiety. Sara's reports did not instill him with confidence, even though things for the State Alchemists in Drachma—Cal Fischer aside—were going well. No one else had been injured. Sara was moving forward with her plan to train Drachmans to replace them so that the Amestrian involvement would eventually not be necessary. It was a first really, purposefully training alchemists in another country, but it wasn't the potential disaster some people seemed to think. Almost every country that bordered Amestris had alchemists in some form or other now anyway. It was only a matter of time before they did if not. It was better to instill a sense of ethics and a way to use them that would be less of a threat now, under friendly terms. Drachma was having to re-learn from the ground up. That trust would be a long time in coming, but it looked like the West would be first.

Training foreign alchemists, building military aircraft… the world had changed dramatically in the time since Franz first joined up as an enlisted boy just looking to make his family proud and serve his country.

Hopefully this turned out to follow the trend of fight-a-country befriend-that-country. So many former enemies were now allies. It was better that way. Relations with Drachma had always been particularly problematic, as their volatile politics and regime changes often ripped apart tenuous ties of peace and economic prosperity.

"Still going for the title of most diligent and overworked President in Amestrian history?"

Franz looked up from the papers in front of him.

Tore Closson stood in the doorway, leaning against the open door with his arms crossed and a cocky smile. "I thought Sara left you with a curfew."

That was one way of putting it. "I was just finishing up a few things," Franz replied honestly. "I _was_ intending to go home, eventually. I just can't work at home these days. It's too chaotic."

"I hear you." Tore nodded. "Why do you think I'm still here? Camelia invited at least a quarter of the cast of this winter's musical production over to run some extra dance rehearsals in our living room." After watching her brother enjoying theatre through high school, his daughter had decided to give it a try.

Now _that_ was chaos. Since neither Trisha nor James had been all that into performance arts, Franz had never dealt with musical productions in his house. "What are they performing this year?" he asked, feeling a little bad he hadn't kept up with what all of Tore's children were doing. It was hard to remember that Camelia was fourteen, and a first-year high school student. Dare was still stationed at North City, and Brandon had graduated last spring and gone off to Creta to attend one of the worlds' premier Culinary Schools.

"The Mysterious Princess," Tore replied. "The department has gotten very ambitious. The drama teacher says it's because of the talent they've got to work with. Fortunately, that doesn't seem to have gone to my daughter's head."

"Who's she playing?"

"Chiaretta, the Princess."

Franz was familiar with the musical drama based on the old Amestrian folk tale; a drama of romance, a mysterious princess who might not even be a princess who had to prove it by following impossible tests, only to prove it and then fall into an enchanted slumber due to an evil spell. In the end, her prince rescued her and together they slew a monstrous dragon. "Hopefully the dragon won't be breathing fire in your living room."

"The scene they're working on tonight is mostly to get down some tricky choreography. They should be wrapping up about the time I get home."

The pause that came after implied heavily that Franz should be doing the same. "I hope so for your sake." Franz stood, sliding back the chair and reaching for his uniform jacket. "And for mine, I hope everyone's in bed by the time I get home."

"There's a reason we only have one cat."

"Because you had four kids in the house." Including fostering Franz's daughter-in-law as a teenager.

"I like things lively." Tore fell into step with Franz as he left his office, closing the door behind him.

The outer office was empty, all of his staff gone home. Once the new alliance had gotten into full swing, the extra intelligence office that had taken over his had been moved elsewhere, in a more centralized location down the hall. Any critical information would still reach him in seconds. "Glad that works for you. Right now, I'd give almost anything for the world to be a little _less_ lively." Almost, because he would never, in a million years, be willing to give up Sara a second time.

 **December 26** **th** **, 1990**

Amalea Finn had not expected to spend her holidays suspended in the sky, using her alchemy to keep alive one of the men in the world she had wanted most to make proud of her, and he might never even know how hard she pushed herself. Not that the flight itself was as traumatic or draining as the first days after his rescue. They had stabilized him, only to have one issue or another come up, with the result that they had saved him three more times before he had been declared stable enough to survive the act of being put in a plane and flown in the air. No one knew how the air pressure changes, minimized as they were in the cabin of the plane, would affect a man in a coma who could not be considered stable.

For all of the flight back, she had stared at the monitors hooked to him, refilled his IV bag with the appropriate medications and liquids, and used her alchemy only to monitor him more directly, and continue to feed him energy from outside, to bolster him, and try and allow him to heal a little faster.

Just have to get him to Central, then the physicians there would be able to do what they couldn't in a small city Drachman hospital. The best Alchemical doctors in Amestris were in Central, too. She just had to keep him alive that long.

Not that the trip went smoothly. Rothschild had to land once to avoid a terrible storm, and veer off course to avoid part of another. The turbulence rocked the plane, and the very possibility of falling out of the air made her nauseous, and occasionally terrified. She tried not to think about it.

Finally, in the pre-dawn hours that always seemed darker than usual, they landed. As soon as they taxied to a stop, everything happened at once.

Loud banging was followed by the metal hatch door swinging open, and people swarming into the plane. Amalea recognized them as military emergency responders as they unhooked and took control of Whitewater's gurney, lifting it and his IV and unloading him off the plane in a rush of barked orders and lights from the headlights of an ambulance outside.

No one said a word to her as they disembarked and moved to load the General into the back of the ambulance.

"Calvin!" A frantic female voice gasped, and the shape of a woman clambering into the back of the ambulance with him almost certainly had to be his wife.

In the dark, Amalea had to squint, her eyes having trouble adjusting as she stepped down onto the concrete. She wobbled, almost collapsing on the unmoving ground after nearly two days in a vibrating air machine with no real sleep. Her hand on the doorframe saved her.

The ambulance doors closed, and without another word to her, it took off towards the hospital, leaving her standing there. Alone.

"Are you all right?"

Amalea jumped, spinning around fast enough Rothschild had to catch her to keep her from falling backwards into the dirt. "They… didn't say a word."

"Don't take it personally." He smiled kindly; the edge of his expression just visible from the light coming out of the doorway. As she steadied herself, he let go of her arm. "There's still a car here for us too." He nodded behind her.

Turning, Amalea realized he was correct. There was a vehicle waiting for them, and a single person approaching out of the darkness at a more sedate pace. "Lieutenant Rothschild, Major Finn."

Her eyes were adjusting, though not quickly enough. The voice, however, was vaguely familiar, and then she realized why as Alphonse Elric stepped into the square of light from the doorway. He must have brought his daughter. "True Soul, Sir!" Amalea wobbled slightly as she snapped upright to salute.

The old man's smile was gentle, and clearly amused. "At ease, Amalea. I've been retired for decades."

"Do you happen to have our instructions, Mr. Elric?" Rothschild asked with a moment of hesitation clearly deciding how to address the legend in front of them, though his voice was much steadier than hers.

"I do." He nodded. "I'm to take you back into town, and drop you where you want to go. Ostensibly, that's supposed to be your homes so that you can change, get a meal, and rest." Then he flashed a knowing look at Amalea. "However, they did not expressly say that was the first place I had to take you. Once you're rested, you're to report to Headquarters for a debriefing. Shock wants you there by noon."

Which only gave them a few hours to catch a quick bit of sleep really. Amalea supposed they just couldn't take much time. Besides, as soon as possible, they needed to turn around and she was to return to the front with the other alchemists. Still, it rankled that they hadn't taken her with them to the hospital. She had been the physician in charge of him for the entire flight! "I should have been taken with them to the hospital," she replied irritably.

"Which is where you can go after you report in to headquarters." The older alchemist startled her with the firmness in his tone. "You're almost falling asleep on your feet, and you've used all of your own resources keeping Whitewater alive for which, you should know, our family is incredibly grateful. Thank you."

That was right; they were family. "You're welcome." He was right of course, about all of it. "And, I appreciate the lift."

"Did you think they would really forget you out here?" Now he was smiling again.

"The thought had crossed my mind," she admitted as they started to walk towards the car. She was only vaguely aware of Rothschild closing up the plane as they walked out through the hangar door. As they stepped out, she realized that the place wasn't as empty as it looked either. While no one was building planes on the brief winter holidays, there were security guards stationed at several points. "It was silly though." This was the military, it had nothing to do with personal feelings and everything to do with completing the mission. In this case, they had delivered Fischer into the waiting hands of a swarm of medical professionals far more experienced than she. There was nothing else there that required her.

"No, it was a natural reaction in our exhausted state," Rothschild corrected gently. "I, for one, will be glad to close my eyes and not have to worry about dropping us out of the sky for a while."

Amalea just hoped that wasn't what she dreamed about.

* * *

It felt like an eternity before Alyse was finally left alone in a hospital room with Cal. The entire rush to the hospital, the rushed but professional order of the hospital personnel, the terrifying litany of medical concerns, illness and injury, that plagued her husband—all of it was enough to crush her in its whirlwind. It had been almost two days since she had gotten any kind of sleep, because from the moment she had been told that the plane had lifted off from Drachma with Cal on it, she had been praying, begging, anyone who might hear to bring him back to her alive.

Well, he was alive, if only in a very technical sense. If the wan, aged looking man in the bed by which she sat was Cal Fischer in a better state than when they had rescued him, it was more than a miracle that he had even survived being rescued. The antibiotics were working, they told her; the pneumonia was not yet gone, but it was improving. The fever was down, and manageable, but not gone. Cracked and broken bones were set, and some almost entirely healed thanks to the exhaustive work of physicians and alchemists alike. The worst of the bruising was gone, leaving only mottling in places that must have once been black and bloody. Gashes were closed lines of skin, most no longer in need of stitches.

Someone had removed the broken and shattered remains of his auto-mail prosthetic, leaving just the port whole and intact, waiting for a new leg.

Yet he lay there, in a nearly vegetative state, unresponsive to anything they had done to him. He breathed. His heart was beating. His brain—so Ren assured him—had enough activity that he was certainly _alive_. Still, he did not look it, and he had no awakened in all that time since the battle.

Worse, was the concern of his spine, and his legs, and any potential damage to them or to the brain that they could not yet fully confirm or identify. Paralysis would mean nothing to a man who might never awaken, or who might be little better than a vegetable. Both were possibilities, and they terrified her.

Permanent paralysis wasn't a much better prognosis. So many unknowns, so many questions; even survival was still uncertain.

Alyse clutched his hands in hers, grateful for the monitors beeping out a slow consistent heartbeat, because she could barely feel a pulse under her fingers. "Don't you dare die on me, Calvin Fischer." She had no idea if he could hear her. Many stories of patients in comas said they remembered what people said to them while they were unconscious, but she had never met one of those people in person to ask them. She just hoped it was true. That, and just thinking her words weren't the same. "You can't let a little thing like a falling bomb and a river stop you after all. The landmine didn't. The gut wound didn't. The dozen other times you've come home full of holes didn't. All the times you made me furious with you didn't. You made it home, and I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, so you can't either, not until you wake up and come home. You got that?"

If he did, there was no outward sign, no anomalous blip in the readings, no reaction. Not even a twitch.

Inside her, the dam broke. The anger and impatience and worry of the past days washed away, subsumed in a flood of overwhelming despair.

* * *

Through the window in the hospital room door, Ethan watched his cousin, head down on her arms, sobbing, Cal's hands clutched tightly in her own, and his heart ached for her. He had not been one of the physicians on staff waiting when Cal had arrived early that morning, but he had gotten a thorough report on arrival. Ren had seen him and done the alchemical part of the examination, and they had the medical records that had come from the hospital in Drachma and through military reports.

 _You may be the toughest son of a bitch I've ever known._ Somehow, no matter how many times Cal got shot, stabbed, blown up, and now sent down freezing rapids without a boat, he came out alive. At least, up to this point. Ethan wished any of them could be sure of a full recovery, or any recovery. For the moment, Cal's condition had stabilized, but that did not give Ethan any confidence given the current situation. Alyse knew Cal's chances of waking at all were currently at about sixty percent, if Ethan was feeling optimistic. The number would change, but it could do so rapidly. They would do everything they could to save him, and to help in recovery, but there were too many unknowns and concerns right now for him to feel confident of giving any kind of solid answer.

And he'd been honest about that with Alyse. They had gotten together in a war, in which Cal had almost died from a severe gut wound received in combat. They had survived wars, marital issues, her cancer treatment, and had been looking forward to Cal's impending retirement.

Now it all hung in the air, with Gloria back in Drachma covering the news, and Charlie still missing. Ethan wished there were something he could do to ease Alyse's suffering, but all he could do he was already doing, and that was doing everything he and the team of doctors who would see him regularly, could possibly do.

In some ways, the coma was almost a hidden blessing, if only because he knew how irascible and disagreeable and impatient Cal was as a patient. Many of his injuries were healing better and faster, not only because of alchemical treatment, but because he wasn't exacerbating any of his conditions.

It wasn't much of a bright spot.

"We'll take care of her." Ren spoke as she came up beside him. "With so many family visiting, we're already cooking for seven. She eats with us most nights lately already."

Ethan nodded. As representatives of their respective countries for this alliance, it had been a pleasant irony to have Ren's brother and his wife, and Minxia and Thrakos (with their young son in tow), assigned alongside their respective embassy teams in Amestris. It was easier now that the alliance was in the public eye, and those representatives did not have to be kept out of sight. "I know. I just wish we could do more. Even everything might not be enough."

"We all know that, and we'll do it anyway." The look in Ren's eyes said everything Ethan was feeling, she also felt, possibly even more keenly.

"Did you get a chance to call Gloria and let her know her father arrived here?"

Ren nodded. "I couldn't get through to her directly, but Mihalov's secretary swore to pass on the message."

It was something. Ethan wondered if Charlie had any idea of his father's plight. Surely, where-ever he was, he was following the news?

 **January 1, 1990**

The morning of the new year was dismal and gray, even at the late hour at which Charlie awoke after staying up well into the wee hours of the morning at the local bar with most of the other singles and childless couples in town, celebrating the incoming new year.

Not that there had been much to celebrate. It had just been the most convenient place to spend the evening, where he could be semi-forgotten in the crowd, and still appear to be sociable. No one wanting to have deep, meaningful conversations at a new year's party.

It was also earlier in the evening, before they turned off the news station on the radio and swapped over entirely to music, that Charlie had heard the public announcement that General Fischer, the Whitewater Alchemist, was back on Amestrian soil, and in the hospital. There had been next to no report on his condition. Given what Charlie knew about military hospitals, and the current situation, if his father had been doing well, they would certainly have put it in the news report to lift people's morale.

Which could not mean good news.

Ignoring the dull throbbing of his head from lack of sleep, more than anything else, Charlie crawled out of bed, and glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. The shop was closed today, so he wasn't expected to be anywhere in particular. Last night, as much as the rest of the recent news, had made him antsy. He couldn't hide here forever. If nothing else, his feelings made that abundantly clear. He couldn't move on in his life, leaving everything as unsettled as he'd left it. No one had gotten closure from his leaving, or any sense of peace, not even himself.

Charlie didn't have a real plan. He wasn't even sure if he was going to do it yet, or how long he would stay if he did. It depended on the phone call he made today, he supposed. There was no reason to put off the decision he'd made last night on the walk back.

Pulling on pants and a shirt, he padded downstairs to the phone, and once again dialed his uncle's house number, praying fervently that Uncle Will was the one who picked up the phone.

"Elric residence."

Charlie froze as the person who picked up had a female voice. It wasn't his aunt, and it only took him a second to recognize it as the voice of his cousin Minxia. He swallowed, and hoped she wouldn't recognize his as he lowered it just slightly and spoke seriously, "I'm calling for Professor Elric. Is he available?"

A moment's hesitation and then a cheerful, "Just a moment." He could hear her voice calling across the house but away from the phone as she shouted, "Dad, it's for you! I think it's one of your students."

If it was weird that he was calling on the first of the new year, between terms, Minxia didn't ask anything, and a minute later, he heard his uncle's footsteps in the distance, and the phone changing hands. "William Elric."

"Hey, Uncle Will. It's Charlie again."

He realized how tight a spot he might have just put his Uncle in, calling with his family there, having promised not to reveal he was talking with his nephew. "Good morning," he replied sounding jovial, if slightly formal. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year to you," Charlie replied back automatically. "I was calling to ask about Dad. The news isn't telling me anything except he got home a couple of days ago, and I…I was hoping there was something you could tell me."

"Sure, I'd love to tell you about that. Let me take this into my office." He heard shuffling, and another line picking up, and the first receiver being hung up, presumably by Minxia. "Okay, you have terrible timing for someone who doesn't want to be talked to," Will replied in a much more normal voice. "Yes, your father is here in the hospital in Central. Short summary is this: he's in a coma, and we're not sure when or if he will wake up again. He's still fighting infections and severe injuries, but the doctors give him about a sixty-percent chance right now of waking up again. They won't even give us any kind of answer or solid estimate on recovery. If there's anything you've ever wanted to say to your old man, you're running out of time. As it is, he might not hear you."

It felt like being struck with a bullet—a feeling he remembered not at all fondly—the way his uncle's words hit home sharply, setting off a flare of guilt. "H-how's Mom?"

"How do you think?"

Charlie winced. "I don't know what to do," he admitted then. "Would coming home make things any better, or would it just make them worse?"

Will sighed. "I still don't have an answer for you, but I really don't see how it could get much worse. Make a decision you can live with."

Oh, that's helpful. "I'll… figure that out. Thanks, Uncle Will… for the update." He should end the call there, but he wasn't quite ready. Somehow, that tenuous electrical strand between them felt like a lifeline, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that either.

"Take care of yourself," his uncle replied. "And if you want to talk to me after this, I recommend calling my office number during weekdays instead." He rattled off the number, and Charlie fumbled to scribble it on a piece of grease-stained paper.

"I'll keep that in mind."

After he hung up, he went back up to the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. His stomach growled. If he went next door, Eli probably had something in the kitchen leftover from this morning, or possibly lunch already in the works. It was likely to be cold food today but Charlie didn't particularly care one way or the other.

He couldn't get the words out of his head. _You're running out of time._ It wasn't just his father who could be dead even before he got back to Central, but to ask his mother's forgiveness, to be there to support her, to be there when Gloria came home… or to apologize to Shelby. He had no real hope that she would actually forgive him, but he had to try.

There were no trains running today, being the first of the year. Even they got the holiday. Still, it would take him a little time to get things together, tell Eli he needed to take a personal trip and would be gone, and get a ticket. He didn't think the ticket office would be open until tomorrow either.

Which meant the first thing he needed to do was get time off from Eli. He had little doubt the old man would understand, he just hoped he didn't want too much information. There were days when Charlie couldn't help wondering if Eli had suspicions about Charlie's identity, especially lately. Still, he never pried, and that was something Charlie appreciated. Despite the man being old enough to be his grandfather, he never treated Charlie like a boy.

Charlie just wished that at some point, he would stop feeling like a boy who was just screwing things up. The first step then, was to make sure if he walked away, he was walking, not running.

There was only one way to figure out which was which.


	66. Chapter 66

**January 15** **th** **, 1991**

Charlie stared at the two townhome doors for several long seconds, well after the taxi had pulled away. It was mid-afternoon, and he wasn't sure whether or not he should expect anyone to be home in either house. Somehow, it felt wrong to enter his parents' home without either of them knowing he had returned. Even if he had wanted to, he had left the key when he skipped town, and it was still in the house with Shelby.

Which meant his only real option was to knock on his aunt and uncle's door and see who was home to face him slinking back—for how long he still wasn't sure—with his tail between his legs.

Charlie turned away from his childhood home and walked up the stairs to the door on the right instead. Steadying himself, he rang the doorbell before he could panic and run away.

After several seconds he heard footsteps coming towards the door, then the lock unbolting, and the door opened revealing Minxia's startled face. "Charlie?"

"Hey, cuz'…" Charlie couldn't even smile, but he managed sheepish. "I ah—no one's home next door."

To his relief, Minxia did not slam the door in his face, frown, or otherwise kick him to the curb. She just nodded. "Yeah. Your Mom is at the hospital. I don't have a car, but you're welcome to come in and wait for someone to take you over. At least, I assume that's why you're here."

Charlie nodded. He had no idea if seeing his father would do any good, but he had come all this way. He stepped forward and Minxia let him in, closing the door behind them both. "Is he still unconscious?"

"He is," Minxia confirmed as they crossed the living room. He set his bag down by the door and removed his shoes. Aunt Ren never let anyone walk across her clean floors with shoes on. "Mom is over there, too. Dad's teaching today. Everyone else is over at Headquarters. Uncle Mao, Aunt Jiu, and Thrakos are all here too, you might have heard."

"I figured Thrakos was here if you were," Charlie admitted, following her into the kitchen where she returned to cutting up a snack of what looked like fruit and crackers and cheese. "I'm actually surprised that you're not over there with them." She didn't strike him as the type to sit out of anything important.

Minxia smiled. "Normally I am, but Damien had a fever last night and he's still under the weather today, so I stayed here. If he's not better tomorrow, we'll swap and Thrakos will stay and I'll go so at least one of us is there to speak for Creta."

Charlie couldn't remember the last time he had seen Damien Argyros, but he was sure the boy had been an infant. "Isn't Damien's birthday soon?" he remembered suddenly.

Minxia smiled, clearly surprised but pleased. "Yes. He's turning four on the twentieth. We've been planning a little birthday party, just him and the cousins." At that, she paused, and Charlie got a feeling she had stopped on the verge of inviting him, and he knew why. The only cousins Damien had in Amestris were Charlie's kids, which meant Shelby would be there.

"That sounds great," he replied, trying desperately to avoid making this more awkward than it was already. "I'm sure he'll have a great time."

"Why don't you sit down while I take this upstairs?" Minxia suggested. "I'm sure you've had quite a trip."

"Sure." He watched her head upstairs before he went back out into the living room and sat down on the couch. Charlie couldn't imagine what she was really thinking, but whatever it was, his cousin wasn't going to abandon the rules of civility or shout at him, at least not with her little boy in the house.

Charlie had no illusions about getting similar reactions from the rest of his family. So, he sat waiting, trying to be patient, his leg twitching from time to time, until Minxia rejoined him. "Do you want something to drink?" she offered. "We've got tea, milk, apple juice, and coffee."

"Coffee would be great." He hadn't slept much, or well, on the train. Without the money for a sleeping car, he'd had to sleep on the hard, regular seats. He was going to be up for several more hours, and talk to a lot of people, before he got to sleep anytime tonight.

Minxia brought coffee out to the table on a tray, with cream and sugar available so he could choose to add what he wanted. Then she sat down across from him with a cup of tea. "You're who called for Dad on the phone a couple of weeks ago."

So, she had figured that out. "I wanted to check on my parents. I'd been following the news." Charlie had no idea what else to say. He didn't want to start babbling at his cousin, who was watching him intently, but without any apparent hostility. He just wished he could get a real read on her. He picked up his coffee and sipped it slowly.

Minxia did not seem to be in a hurry to interrogate him. It wasn't until she had refilled both of their cups that she voiced her curiosity. "Can I ask what you've been up to since you left?"

That, at least, was a fairly safe topic. "Working," he replied. "I found a mechanic's shop that didn't mind hiring someone who works as slow as I do right now. Old guy, needed help keeping up with jobs. About all I can do these days, but it pays decent enough." He wondered if Shelby had told anyone that he had been sending home most of that paycheck for months. "Room was included to make up for the low pay."

"Is your hand better?"

"It works." Charlie shrugged. "It's still sore at the end of the day, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as it used to." It could also probably use a detailed cleaning and an adjustment, but he didn't want to tell her that.

So, it continued, small talk that was all polite catching up. Minxia did not ask him how long he was staying, if he was going to leave again, or anything having to do with Shelby.

Thankfully, Uncle Will came home from his office before anyone else got home, and rescued him expediently by offering to drive him straight over to the hospital to see his mother.  
"She's only left the hospital a few times," Will told him as they went over. "They've given her permission to be there at any hour. Mostly because she flat out refused to leave and they didn't want to drag her screaming out of the building."

"That sounds like Mom."

"She doesn't know you're here, does she?"

Charlie shook his head. "No. I didn't tell anyone I was coming."

"Then this is going to be interesting."

It was an enigmatic comment that did not fill Charlie with confidence as they finished the drive over to the military hospital, and walked inside. Uncle Will did not bother to ask for any information in the lobby but took Charlie straight to the elevator and up several floors, through a set of doors, and down the hall to a room with a closed door.

A nurse met them halfway down the hall. "Welcome back, Mr. Elric. May I ask who you are?" she looked at Charlie.

"Charlie Fischer; General Fischer's son," Charlie replied, trying not to let his stomach knot up any worse.

The woman stared at him hard for several seconds, then nodded, taking him at his word, possibly because Will was there. "You can go in. The doctors have finished their afternoon examination."

"Thank you, Priscilla." Will nodded and as she walked away, he opened the door to the room.

For just a moment, Charlie panicked as his mother looked up from the bed he couldn't really see past the door, recognized Will, and then almost fell out of her chair as her eyes fell on _him._ "Charlie?"

Uncle Will stepped out of the way, leaving a clear path between them, and practically shoved Charlie between the shoulder blades, so he stumbled a little and moved into the room.  
"Hi, Mom."

"Charlie!" His mother threw the chair aside, and flew across the room, throwing her arms around him in a fierce hug that knocked the air temporarily from his lungs. "I thought I'd never see you again." Tears flowed freely from already streaked and red-rimmed eyes.

He wrapped his arms around her, clutching his mother to him as he felt a lump inside him rise in his throat. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm here. I'm okay. I promise."

It seemed to last forever before she finally looked up at him, relieved, and a little puzzled. "I almost didn't recognize you."

"Really? I haven't been gone that long." A few months…

"It's the facial hair."

Charlie almost reached for his face. He hadn't given much thought to how little he had shaved lately. He had trimmed it up just before leaving for Central though so he wouldn't look like a vagabond. "Is it bad?"

His mother looked at him, considering. "No, just new. It makes you look more mature."

Anything that made people look at him less like a kid was not a bad thing. Charlie wished he could say his mother was looking well, but the truth was she wasn't. She looked exhausted, and he couldn't imagine she had been sleeping well in a hospital room chair. His eyes strayed away from her to the bed, where his father looked very much like the corpse he was not yet supposed to be.

His expression must have belied his thoughts, because his mother's expression became sympathetic. "He's more alive than he looks."

Charlie stifled a skeptical noise. "I hope so. I heard the news and Uncle Will filled me in some," he cautiously did not say when. "I was just hoping he'd have woken up by now."

"We all do." His mother released her hold on him. "I keep talking, hoping he can hear me. They say people in comas can, sometimes. Not that he's been cooperative about giving any signs," she added with a hint of exasperation.

"Sounds like Dad." Charlie let go of her. "Can I talk to him?"

"Of course, you can."

She said it so easily, as if he hadn't just abandoned everyone for months. "Well I wasn't sure you'd even let me in the room," he admitted awkwardly.

Now her exasperation was clearly aimed at him. "Charles Fischer, you are my son, and no matter how much you worry, terrify, or infuriate me, I will always love you and I will never turn you away. Later, you and I are going to have a _very long talk_ about all of this, but I am not going to keep you away from your father, and I am not going to scream at you in a hospital."

Charlie noticed she did not say anything about not screaming at him in her house. "Thanks, Mom." He turned to ask Will if he could step out only to find that his uncle had already vanished on silent feet, the door closed behind him. For a moment, he considered asking if his mother would let him have this moment in private, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her to leave. Instead, he walked to the bed, and took the chair his mother had vacated.

Up close, he could at least see the slow rise and fall of his father's chest, and the hint of color that gave life to a too-still form. Charlie realized he had never seen his father so quiet and still; not even when he passed out for an afternoon nap on the couch. None of his father's presence, his charisma, his solidness, remained.

Tentatively, Charlie reached out and took his father's hand. "Hey, Dad," he started slowly, aware of his mother behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "It's me, Charlie. I heard you were hurt so… I came home to see you. Gloria covered it spectacularly, you should know. Word on the street is you're some kind of superhero for surviving, like the ones in the comic books. The rest of your team is kicking ass up in Drachma. You should be proud of them. I… I'm sorry I was gone so long. I didn't mean to make you worry. I just wanted to make things better for everyone, and I screwed it up, again. I wish you were awake. I could really use your advice right now. I love you, Dad." When he ran out of ideas of what to say, he just stopped and sat there, holding his father's hand which felt a little too cool and limp, warming it with his own heat. Charlie had no idea how long he sat there either. His mother didn't say anything, she just stood there. He could feel her hand, her presence. He wondered if she would even let him out of her sight now that he was back where she could see him. Somehow, he didn't think so.

* * *

Alyse had left the hospital maybe once every three or four days since Cal had arrived back in Central, and never for long. Still, she hadn't expected Charlie to appear in Cal's hospital room with no prior warning whatsoever. Whatever happened, she needed time with her son, too. Thousands of things she had wanted to say to him had swarmed around her mind for months and now he was back. For how long, she didn't know, but she couldn't let him run away again, not without a chance to talk things through.

Will promised to stay with Cal until she got back, so eventually Alyse and Charlie left the hospital, picked up Aerugean take-out on the way home, and went back to the house.

She watched the nervous look in Charlie's eyes as he walked back into his own childhood home, and her heart ached. It wasn't just the goatee that made Charlie look older, it was the eyes. However, she thought of her son, there was nothing of a boy left there. They were the eyes of a man who had seen combat, had seen his life flash before them, had made mistakes and watched his life fall apart, unable to fix it.

They were his father's eyes. Cal had worn those expressions many times in his life, though she remembered them most in the early years of knowing him.

Miss Whiskers ran out to meet them, meowing pitifully. Alyse knew that Ren and Will had been coming over to feed the cat on the days she wasn't home, but obviously that was not enough attention.

The cat looked at Charlie for a moment, then trotted up to him and shoved her head against his legs, purring.

Charlie crouched down, and started petting her fur with the vigorous way he always had, which she loved. "Hey, girl! Nice to see you haven't forgotten me." The cat purred harder in response. "At least someone doesn't hate me."

"I don't think anybody hates you," Alyse replied as she set the food down on the dining table. "Angry with you, probably. Concerned and worried, absolutely, but not hate."

"Not even Shelby?" There was a hard note of disbelief in her son's tone.

"I will not try to speak for Shelby." If there was one person she should not speak for, it was her son's wife. For the moment, at least, they were still married, even if they hadn't spoken in months. "I told you before, I love you, and your father loves you. We've missed you, and all we ever wanted was to help you, in whatever way you need. Even… if that meant giving you space to work things out on your own." She turned, waiting to see his reactions.

Charlie looked up from the cat with a resigned expression. "I know, Mom. I know you were all trying to help. I just… I felt worthless. I felt like I was ruining everyone else's lives and being a drain. I've messed up so many times, and there are so many things I regret. I still don't know how to make it better." He stopped again.

"Come eat. I'd like to hear about what you've been up to."

Over dinner, she listened and just let him talk about the job he had found, helping out an old man who ran a car mechanic shop. This Eli sounded like a very nice old man, and Alyse found herself wishing she could thank him for being such a good friend and employer to her son. Charlie never said which town it was, and she didn't pry. "Did Shelby get the money?" he finally asked when he got back around to hearing about Cal's injuries and coming home.

Alyse nodded. "Every cheque, from what I can tell. It's been very helpful and appreciated, I know that." It had supplemented his medical leave pay, which had still been arriving as well, making it easier for Shelby to pay for her next semester of school, as well as keeping up with everything it cost to have multiple little ones in the house.

"But you won't' tell me she doesn't hate me."

"Because I honestly don't know where you stand, and I love you both, and your children, and it's not my place to step into your relationship without both of you asking me to," Alyse replied. She had stayed out of plenty of friends' marital drama over the years, but it had never been so hard to do so here. "I can tell you that leaving did not make her life easier. Taking care of you was not a chore to her, or something to be endured. She loved you, and she thought things between you were getting better. She stuck with you despite everything that happened at Briggs and was willing to work things out. She put her career on hold to support you getting started in yours, and to raise those adorable babies. I don't think she regretted that choice until you decided for both of you that things would be better if you left. You didn't give her any say in the matter, and while I know your motivations might have been good, the result was still a lot of pain and heartache." _For someone trying not to get involved, I'm sure saying a lot._ "As for now, I honestly can't say what kind of a reaction you're going to get, but I would not expect a warm welcome. She's stopped talking about you recently." She paused again for a moment. "Will did tell you about her condition, didn't he?"

"You mean that she's pregnant? Yeah, he told me." Charlie drained his cola. "I swear, I had no idea."

"Shelby told me as much." Otherwise, she might have been even angrier. "Would it have changed anything?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Charlie admitted. "I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about it, and it just feels like I messed her life up even more."

Alyse understood that sentiment. "Charlie, can I ask you a very personal question that has been frustrating me for a very long time?"

"Sure, Mom. It can't make anything worse than it already is." Still, he looked nervous.

" _Why_ don't you two ever seem to try _not_ to get pregnant?"

His eyes went wide. Clearly that was not the question he had been expecting, and his face went a little red. "I have a mild latex allergy. We _did_ use condoms…at first, but it was uncomfortable, so we stopped. There was a lot of irritation and it kept getting worse. It wasn't until I talked to a doctor about it later, I found out why though."

One small mystery solved. Alyse wished that was an area of technology that would move forward faster. "There's an alchemical solution to that, too, you know."

"Believe me, I'm considering it." Charlie's face was still red. "Though if Shelby doesn't want me, it may be a moot point."

"You still love her."

"I do. I never stopped. All these months, and I don't even know why I ever looked at another woman, ever, anymore. It all seems so stupid, so foolish, so immature…"

"On that I'm sure no one will argue," Alyse cut him off. Going too far down the road of self-loathing would not do him any good. "However, it _is_ the past. You can't undo mistakes, but you can make different decisions moving forward."

"I just wish I knew what to do."

"Well, from where I sit, you've already started." Alyse smiled at her son as he looked at her puzzled, and lost. "You're here, and while I won't try to tell you what to do, I will tell you that I think the best way to move forward, would be to stay here, and work things out. If your hand is healed enough to do car work, you could probably go back to work here. Technically, you're still only on medical leave for auto-mail rehabilitation."

"What if Shelby won't take me back?"

"Then at least you will be around to be here for your children, if you want to." Alyse did not ask how he felt about that. "You still have friends here, and family. From what you were saying earlier, you didn't have that in your new place."

Charlie sighed. "You're right. That…that's one of the reasons I came back. I realized I couldn't move on there. I couldn't see a future that wasn't one depressing day after another, exactly the same. If I screwed up one life, how could I try and end up screwing up another one? Or anyone else's? No one deserves what I did to Shelby…. especially Shelby."

"Then tell her that."

"What… right now?"

"Why not?" Alyse gestured towards the phone. "It's not all that late, though the kids are probably in bed. They usually are by now. There's nothing to be gained by waiting." And everything, possibly, to be lost. If he waited, and Shelby found out he had come back to town and not tried to reach out, it would almost certainly end things.

For a moment, she thought she had pushed too far as Charlie visibly tensed, and seemed to think through what she had just said. Finally, he stood very slowly. "Okay. Can I have a few minutes of privacy?"

Alyse tried not to look too eager as she bounded out of her chair. "Of course. I'll be upstairs."

* * *

For the first night in almost a week, all three children were down and asleep at the same time, and relatively on time. Shelby, not one to question a miracle, had taken a relaxing shower, whipped up a snack, and pulled out her books to study while she still had a little energy left.

Naturally, she had just flipped open the textbook when the phone rang on the other side of the living room. For a moment, Shelby considered ignoring it, but it might be her mother, or Alyse, or someone else with news about her father-in-law. The fact that they were calling at this hour at all worried her.

That worry was all that convinced her to heft herself off the couch and cross the room to the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, Shels… it's Charlie."

The last voice she had expected startled her so much she dropped the receiver, which swung and slammed into the wall. Charlie? After all these months he chose _now_ to call her? For a brief moment, she considered just hanging up. She felt flush, and uncomfortable as the stress tightened her back.

She could just hear his voice still on the other end of the line, shouting her name, sounding worried. Finally, she managed to get it back in her hand. "I'm here."

"Oh, thank goodness," he gasped. "Did you fall? Are you all right?"

The pure terror and worry in his voice were so sincere, and so very Charlie. "I'm fine," Shelby replied. "You just startled the crap out of me. Where the hell are you and why did it take you so long to call me?" The last came out a little more frantic than she had intended.

"I just got back into Central," Charlie replied, sounding sheepish. "I'm so…so sorry, Shels. I just… I was too afraid to pick up the phone. I was a coward, and I was just trying to make things right, and all I did was mess it all up even more. I screwed up, and I know I might not be able to fix it, but I hurt you, and you didn't deserve that."

The words poured through the phone. Stunned, Shelby tried to just take it all in. Of course, he was sorry. He was always sorry, and he meant it. At least now, he'd called. "You said you're in Central?"

"Yeah I… I didn't tell anyone I was coming, I just got into town and I went and saw Dad."

There it was, the reason he had come anywhere near; his father. A moment later Shelby felt like a jerk for thinking less of Charlie for not calling her first. If her parents had been in the hospital, one of them possibly dying, she would have done the same thing. "How was he?"

"Still in a coma. But I didn't call you to talk about my Dad."  
"I know that."

"I also didn't want to show up at the house without calling first. I thought… maybe I should ask permission."

That was better, definitely, than him showing up unannounced and getting Abigail and Cameron and Summer all excited and hopeful when he might not be back again. "I appreciate that you didn't, and honestly no, you shouldn't. Abigail looked for you every single day for the whole first month you were gone, Charlie. She asked about you all the time, and what was I supposed to tell her? You're her hero, and you left. But… we should talk, in person." She needed to see him, to do this face to face, and not when she was tired and standing in the living room in her pajamas.  
"What about tomorrow?" Charlie asked.

"Tomorrow is terrible," Shelby admitted. "I have two classes in the morning, and a long work shift mid-afternoon and early evening. Cameron has a play-date over lunch, and on my way to work I have a doctor's appointment."

On the other end of the phone, she could hear a small intake of air that sounded like either surprise or sympathy at the crazy schedule. "Then how about dinner?" he asked. "We can meet out somewhere; your choice, my treat."

One thing she could always say about Charlie, he was determined. "I don't have a sitter lined up for tomorrow night, and Mom and Dad have a school sports dinner thing after I get back."

"My Mom can watch them."

"Don't you think it's a little presumptuous to be volunteering your mother?"

"She just stuck her head in the room and started wildly gesticulating at me that she would watch them… so, no, not really."

Which told her he was probably at his parents' house, since she could not imagine Charlie calling from the hospital. "All right. Dinner at _Lea Pourelle,_ seven o'clock. Get us a quiet corner table. I'll meet you as soon as I can get away without sending anyone into a crying mess."

"Seven at _Lea Pourelle._ Got it. I'll be there," Charlie promised. "I'll let you get back to your evening. I'm sorry there was no way to make this less…abrupt."

She supposed there really wasn't. Anytime he would have called would have shocked her at this point. "We'll talk tomorrow. Good night, Charlie." Shelby hung up the phone and managed to stay upright long enough to get back to the couch, where she sank into it, her thoughts all running a frazzled mile-a-minute, and nowhere on the studying she had planned for the evening.

For months she had run scenarios in her head of what it might be like if or when Charlie returned. It was natural to wonder, to try to prepare herself emotionally for dozens of scenarios. In many, she'd been frustrated, tired, and just ended things. Shelby had stood firm, or realized she was just over it all.

Now she was no longer certain of how she felt, all over again. All she could do was take it slow, and do her best to make decisions based on what was right for her children; for their children. They were Charlie's too. Not that she had any idea how he felt about that now.

Tomorrow she supposed she would find out.


	67. Chapter 67

**January 16** **th** **, 1991**

Ted watched the ten alchemists leave at the end of the class period with a feeling of satisfaction, if slight trepidation. They were the first ones to successfully complete all of the training he and the other Amestrian alchemists had been putting them through, and tomorrow they would be joining the Western Drachman forces down in the valley, as Mihalov's forces began a secondary push to fully secure the area and start forcing Savahin's men back towards Petrayevka. The attack also served the purpose of keeping Savahin from pulling men from the West to fight against the newest aggression to the East.

General Marskaya and his people had declared the East in open rebellion against Petrayevka, and the Zinovek regime in particular. The past several days had been a series of scattered attacks in which they had reclaimed several Drachman military facilities in the Eastern mountain range. While most of those were clearing soldiers out of small towns, and claiming supply outposts, the Zinoveks needed those outposts.

Ted hoped his father-and-brothers-in-law to the East were safe. With the north-western pass secured, Niki had rejoined them here, though he was going to be going forward with the new West Drachman alchemists as a rallying point and visible leader. Mihalov would be remaining in the city, only because it was required of him. Ted had no doubts that, given the option, the man would have also been moving towards Petrayevka with the soldiers. Sometimes it was hard to be a bureaucrat. They had not yet discussed which, if any, Amestrian alchemists would be going to the valley with the new alchemists.

"You look lost in thought."

Ted hadn't even noticed Trisha standing there. "There's a lot to think about these days."

"Well, that's true." His cousin smiled. "Home or mission?"

"Politics?" Ted shrugged. "I'm always thinking about home. The sooner we get done with our mission here, the sooner we get home, and the less of my son's childhood I miss." The photo that had come back with Amalea Finn—who had brought news for everyone when she and Rothschild had flown back only a few days after leaving—showed him just how fast his baby boy was growing. Despite only being gone a couple of months so far, it felt like he had missed a lot. Nikolai was already just over three months old. He was bigger, and his eyes were wide open, and he had a little more hair. Anika's letter detailed how he was starting to focus on faces and objects and how his favorite toy so far was the extra-soft plush white tiger. Not that he did much more than cling to it, but that was enough.

"That's the hardest part of being gone, no matter how old they are," Trisha agreed. "Though it doesn't look like we'll be here too much longer."

"Some of us anyway. I wonder how many of us will be going East."

"We should find out shortly. Twilight wants a meeting with all of us before dinner."

Hoping the news would be good, Ted headed for the entrance. "Then let's not keep her waiting."

* * *

"What do you mean you're sending me home?" Ted stared at the Twilight Alchemist, demanding an answer.

She did not look at all surprised at the question. Clearly, she had been expecting it, and Ted wondered if she was even remotely grateful that he had waited for her to finish the meeting before confronting her. "It's not just you, Proteus. You and Glacier are both going back on this supply flight. Whisper and Sensation will be back within a fortnight. The State Alchemists have done our jobs, even beyond our original mission, and we've been ordered to pull out slowly."

"You're sending three of them East with the Drachman military." Under Tringham's command, taking Rapid and Live Wire, along with all of the new Western Drachman Alchemists.

"Only until the newly trained alchemists have seen combat and gotten a little seasoning. A couple of fights under their belt," Twilight repeated her earlier statement.

" _You're_ going on that… tour thing with Mihalov."

"It's a mission, and that's all you need to know about it."

Tight lipped, and uninformative about anything outside his immediate mission. That was her MO with him ever since his team had arrived from the north. Ted had no idea what the big picture was, and that made it difficult. "Is someone displeased with my performance up here?" he finally asked. "Have I put so much as a _hair_ out of line? Done _anything_ other than exactly what I've been told?" That had been the condition for being ordered up here at all.

For a moment, her face was Aunt Sara face again. She motioned for him to sit down at the table, which implied this might be a longer conversation.

Eager to finally get some answers, Ted complied.  
Sara sat down across from him. "Ted, your work has been exemplary, but you're still skating on thin ice with most of the Amestrian Brass and any of the civilian government who have any hint of what went on or know about your hearing. Frankly, so are Franz and I. His decision not to have you imprisoned for desertion and the fact you weren't run out of the military is still classified information, but there are rumors even beyond that.

Beyond that, not everyone in the public approves of how the military—

meaning the President and the higher ups— is handling this situation, even though we've entered into this alliance. But I'm betting you know that. There's also a lot of Anti-Drachman sentiment and Pro-Amestrian sentiment that's been drug up by all of this. Not everyone _wants_ us involved, at all. There's a decent percentage of the population who would rather we just permanently closed the border, and a smaller group that thinks we should be taking advantage of this to grab land in Drachma."

Ted snorted. "What do they think we'd get out of it? More ice and snow?"

"Leverage, perhaps. To make a point. A display of power. There's a lot of rumbling about how our military isn't what it used to be."

"You mean even more corrupt? Amestris _started_ wars for decades…centuries… and it all turned out to be a crazy alchemy plot. Bradley wasn't even interested in making _Amestris_ better. He was a homunculus."

"That doesn't mean people didn't like the power it gave Amestris. We _are_ depleted from the last war with Drachma. Which we _almost_ didn't win. That's part of what has made it easier to make piece with our border countries and make allies, even though those could also be temporary. As long as the alliance gives power and stability to Amestris, people will be for it, even if it's for different reasons. Most people don't join the military for purely altruistic reasons… not even State Alchemists." That came with a rueful smile. "There's a lot of pride, and a lot of wanting to prove one's self. We're egotistical. Officers want to make rank, to make a name, to make more money, to gain more respect, or more authority. For a lot of Amestrians, military or otherwise, pushing back at Drachma would not only be justified, but a chance for them to prove their mettle like in the old days. Making allies is good for business, but not if your business of preference needs a war."

She was right, and none of what she was saying was new information to him, not really, but Ted hadn't ever really tried to put it together in those terms. "I still feel like there's something you're not telling me, that you don't trust me with." He gave it one more nudge, not that he was expecting much.

Nor did she give him much, besides a shrug. "There are parts of this plan you aren't privy to because, in short, you don't have the clearance. Also, because if you don't know, you can't screw it up. If you're not here, you can't take the blame, and if you don't know, you'll be harder to implicate later."

"So, you're saying I'm a liability."

"Ted, you were a liability in Xing. You were a liability when you _ran away_ and abandoned your entire duty to follow your heart and your personal convictions. You are _not_ now, but only so long as you leave. Charging off to do _what we feel is right and damn it all to everyone else_ may be what Elrics are known for… but it's not what good military officers do. Saving your ass, even as carefully as he did it, has not made Franz look good within the military, not with the upper brass who know what's going on. The risk of the mission that saved me was also not looked well on. It was a very personal calculated risk. If you asked the average Amestrian, the Assembly members included, if they thought that mission was a good idea beforehand, they'd have said to call his bluff, and let whatever poor girl it was die over getting more involved."

"I hear a _but_ in there somewhere."

"- _But_ there are still a lot of people in the military who are soldiers in the traditional sense of what that means. Some of them were in the last war, and a lot of them were raised on its stories. A lot of them hate Drachmans as much as people used to hate Ishvallans, and Aerugeans, and Cretans, and everyone else who wasn't of _proud Amestrian heritage_. Only the Drachmans were more successful. I can't even tell you who really started that conflict anymore, but if you look at the history records far enough back, Amestris was never blameless. Those expansionist policies took hold in a people that accepted them. We can't go around blaming homunculi. They exploited what was already there. And others will do it again. Honestly, the best place you could ask to be right now is stuck in Central, where you can protect Anika and your son from the people who live right there, in our home, that will hate and distrust her not only because she is Drachman, but because if they know who her father is, they will despise her for her family. Our family has always been more accepting than most, and that's because of Dad and Uncle Al's very unique experiences.

But, I feel like we've gone far deeper into philosophy than I meant. If you want to help your country, your family, your _uncle,_ and yourself, you will go home without a complaint, and sit at that desk, and be incredibly diligent, and look suitably miserable and punished for as long as this mess lasts or until you're told otherwise."

"How long might that be?"

For a moment, her expression was sad and serious. "Depending on how this turns out, possibly the rest of your career."

Ted did not like the tone of her voice, or the look on her face. "Aunt Sara…. You are planning on going home again…right?"

The smile she gave him was frighteningly familiar…because it looked like his grandfather's…and his own. "Believe me, Ted, I have no intention of dying now, and anyone who tries to get between me and Central when I'm done is going to be very, very sorry."

* * *

 _Lea Pourelle_ was not the fanciest restaurant in Central, but it was definitely a notch above the places Charlie and Shelby usually went. Not that he had been about to object to any place she chose if it meant she would sit down and talk with him.

Still it required a little dressing up, and having taken nothing of any style with him when he left home, Charlie had asked permission from his mother to raid his father's closet. It felt weird, looking through his father's clothes. Apparently, the man never threw anything away, because the back of his father's side of the cramped walk-in held a variety of surprisingly stylish collared button-downs that had to be at least fifteen or twenty years old. There were also a couple of pairs of khakis, and a few pairs of casual leather shoes. Charlie finally picked a blue-and-white checked button-down and khaki pants, and the leather shoes that went best with his own brown leather belt.

After a shower, he shaved, leaving the goatee, but making sure it was trimmed up. When he was done, he was startled at how much more mature he looked. He hadn't spent a lot of time looking at himself in the mirror lately.

What was even more shocking was how well his father's old clothes fit him, not just in cut, but style. His curly hair was a couple of shades darker than his father's, more of a light brown than a sandy blond; his eyes a deeper shade of stormy gray, but he had a feeling if he shaved completely, the reflection he was looking at would be very similar to the oldest photos of his father; the ones tucked away in albums that pre-dated his parents even dating.

His mother was downstairs as he headed out. She smiled. "You clean up nice."

"I just hope Shelby still thinks so." Not that looking good would win her back, but he had to make the effort.

"Well you certainly look respectable, and handsome. I hope dinner goes well."

"Thanks, Mom. Any advice?" He knew that well might not mean the same thing to his mother as it did to him right now, but she'd never steer him wrong.

"Take flowers. There is never a bad time to give someone you love flowers."

Which was how Charlie came to be waiting for Shelby outside _Lea Pourelle_ with a bouquet of red roses and white tulips, trying not to feel like an awkward teen on a first date. This would have been so much simpler if that had been what was happening tonight.

He recognized the car as it pulled into the parking lot, and followed it, for the purpose of being there to hold the door open for Shelby as she got out.

He was immediately grateful he had, as she emerged, looking up at him with a startled expression. He took her in all at once; her beautiful blond curls and stunning eyes, and almost lost his tongue. Pulling himself together, Charlie held out a hand as she stood, and the flowers in his other. "Good evening, M'lady."

Shelby took the hand, steadying herself as she straightened up, and Charlie got a full look at her, and the casual but stylish floral dress—reds and pinks and oranges on white—that flattered her curves. Though it was a bit of a shock to see the round swell of her belly, even having been told she was pregnant again. All the other times, he'd been there for the gradual change. Shelby let go of his hand as soon as she had closed the door, and took the flowers. "Charlie, I almost didn't recognize you."

"That seems to be the common reaction," Charlie admitted with a sheepish smile. "I'm beginning to wonder if I should have just shaved it all off."

Shelby looked at him for another moment, considering. "It's not a bad look. Just different. Shall we go inside?"

"Of course." He offered her an arm, with no illusions that she might not take it, but it was still polite.  
He also took it as nothing more than politeness when she accepted his arm, and they went into the restaurant and asked for a table for two. She didn't say anything else to him until they were both seated, and the waiter had left to take their drink orders.  
"Thank you for the flowers."

"You're welcome."  
Then came more awkward silence. Charlie had expected it, but he hadn't been sure when or how the best way would be to start the conversation. They hid it for a time by looking over the menu, and ordering their food. Only after their food came did he break the silence. He could tell she was waiting for him to speak first, to give him a chance to explain himself, or at least start the conversation. He had apologized on the phone, but he had a feeling he was going to be doing a lot of that. "Thanks for agreeing to have dinner with me."

"Well I couldn't have you coming by the house without talking first." Despite the harsh reality of the words, Shelby's tone was very matter-of-fact.

It stung. "I understand."

"Do you really?" Shelby looked up from her plate of stewed vegetables and roast sausages. "Abby cried every night for a month. She kept asking me where you were, and when you were coming home, and why you weren't there to tuck her in and read her favorite bedtime story. That upset Cameron, because while he didn't really understand, his sister was upset. Summer doesn't have much of a memory of you, so I don't think she's really registered you being gone."

Charlie's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "What _did_ you tell Abby?"

"I told her you had to go away for work, like before, and that we didn't know when you would be home but it might be a long time. She stopped asking every day after that, though she doesn't really ask anymore at all, except if she's not feeling well. Though she cries for you in her sleep."

If she was trying to make him feel guilty, it was working. "That's a lot of past tense."

"You've been gone for months."

"I know I can't undo the damage I've done, Shels… but for whatever it's worth, I'll do anything you want me to in order to try and make amends." He set down his fork, his appetite gone. "All I've done the past few months is miss you like crazy."

Shelby did not look convinced. "Then why didn't you just come home?"

"Because I was screwed up and not thinking straight. I… I just thought that I couldn't. If I did, I would just be more of a burden for you. Another _child_ to take care of instead of a partner who was any real use to you. Once I left… I thought that was it."

"Yet here you are."

"Being gone…working somewhere else… I guess it gave me more perspective. I realized there was no _getting away_ or _starting over_ elsewhere. What I did to you… I couldn't do that to someone else. I hadn't given you peace, or closure, or made your life easier… none of the things I thought would happen did. Then I heard about Dad… and I called Uncle Will… and I realized that there was no way I could live my life the way I was. It wasn't better, and I still love you more than anything in the universe." There it was. He had been thinking for so long about how to tell her how he felt, and he could only hope she believed him. He wasn't sure he dared hope she actually understood.

Shelby looked pained, before she averted her eyes and took another bite of her meal. "There are a lot of Is in that explanation."

"There's a lot of self-blame in that explanation, too," Charlie replied, bitterly. "You didn't do anything wrong, Shelby. You tried to be there for me. You did everything I could ever have asked you to… and I thought it wasn't fair to you. I couldn't see that it wasn't just out of duty… or… I don't even know anymore. I've screwed up over and over, and every time all I seem to do is hurt you. So… tell me what you want me to do." He tried to get her to meet his eyes again, his tone begging. "What I want doesn't matter if it's not what you want."

Shelby shook her head. "You're right, it doesn't, but you don't get to put it on me to make this decision alone either. What _do_ you want, Charlie? In high school, you told me all you ever wanted in the world was me, and then our family. But that wasn't enough for you. When things got hard, you didn't turn to me; you turned to almost anyone _but_ me, and I don't give a damn why you think you did it or how good you think your intentions were. You told me it was to keep from burdening me… but none of _them_ ever turned up pregnant, did they?"

He wasn't sure where she was going with this, but he wasn't about to cut her off. "No… not that I've ever been told."

"Because you were using protection with them, or they were." This was not phrased as a question. " _I_ didn't make you after we discovered your allergy, because I loved you, because I trusted you. But look where that got me."

"I know… I was stupid, it was wrong of me."

"We were both young, and incredibly stupid." Now she was looking at him, and while her voice had never risen beyond the volume of low public conversation, there was bite in it. "You didn't know what you were getting into, and neither did I. We were idealists and we thought we could do anything. _I_ thought with you, I could do anything, that you really loved me more than anything… but that's not true. You lied to me, and it's possible you lied to yourself. You lied, you went behind my back, you cheated, and then when you really needed me, and I really needed you… you walked out. You didn't even give me a say in it; just decided on your own _what was best_ and left me to clean up the mess." She sighed, then eyed him again. "You weren't _with_ anyone while you've been gone, were you?"  
"Shit, no!" Charlie jumped, though he realized he probably should have expected the question. "There hasn't been anyone, I swear."  
"How do I know I can believe what you're saying now?"  
"I'll give you the phone number for my boss. I lived above his shop, ate dinner with him at his place right behind it every night. He's a nosy old busy-body widower. He'll tell you." He was sure Eli would vouch for him if asked, at least if he realized she was asking about the same man. Eli never had known his real name, but the man was smart. He might have figured out Charlie wasn't going by his old name.

"I might do that." Shelby let that part drop, or at least seemed to. She took a few more bites before she spoke again. "If it were just you and me, this would be easier, but it's not. We have to think about what's best for Abby, and Cam, and Summer, and this new one. They need love and stability, not drama. And certainly not a father who comes and goes and isn't there when it matters. So… it does matter what you want, as much as what I want, because I need to know Charlie. Do you even _want_ to be a father? A parent? "

"What does that matter now? It's four babies late to be asking."

"You sired them. That's not the same as raising them. Commit to being a parent, if not than admit it and move on."

"I told you, I can't just move on," Charlie replied, feeling everything slipping through his grasp; everything he had cared about, everything he'd made in his life that meant anything. "I love our children. I would _die_ to protect them. I want to be there at meal time, and bath time, and bedtime stories, and even covered in spit-up in the middle of the night, walking a crying baby because I love them. The idea of them growing up without me… it's killing me. I love them, and I love you, Shels."

"Do you love me, or do you miss _having_ me? And do you love me enough? Do you love your children enough?" Shelby put down her flatware again. The corners of her eyes were glistening. " _Caring_ and emotion aren't enough. This is a _commitment,_ and a team effort, that you've been running from ever since it got hard. Well, I never had that option. I've put my heart and soul into making this work, into keeping our family in one piece, and now to minimizing the damage of the hole you left in our lives. I supported your career, I took care of our family, I worked to be everything you needed, and our children need. I'm balancing work, and school, and raising our children, and soon there's going to be _another_ one. Our _great love of the ages_ fell apart in barely five years. You'll forgive me if I put what's best for our children above anything else."

Of course, he would, because that was what he wanted, though it seemed they might have very different ideas of what that entailed at this point. It sounded as though Shelby had already mostly made up her mind. Charlie had no idea what he could say that would keep this from blowing up further, or unravelling the rest of the way. "Do you love _me_?"

"I did," she replied. "Enough to lie to my parents to be with you. To marry you against their wishes at seventeen. I defied the world and put off my other life goals for you, and then for Abigail…and Cameron and Summer…. I lost myself for you. I'm a different person now, and I don't know if I can still love you the way I did. It can't be the way it was before; blindly and unreserved." Shelby picked up her sparkling apple cider and sipped it. "But… I'm not ready to just throw everything in just yet either. Abby still adores you and…I've missed you."

The tiniest ray of light. "I want to come home," Charlie told her immediately. "I want to be with you, and our children again. I want to help you around the house, and take care of you, and be there the way I should have. I can't promise I'm going to be great at it, not at first, but I'll learn, and I'll heal. Just please… please don't give up on us yet."

Shelby nodded thoughtfully. "I don't want you at the house. Not until we decide what's best for the children, or see if there's any hope left of making anything work. I'm not even sure I should tell them you're in town, honestly."

"That's fair." At this point, Charlie would have agreed to almost anything. He had half been expecting her to bring divorce papers to dinner. "I won't come over to the house without your permission. I promise."

"All right. Though, all I can promise you is that, right now, I'm willing to talk to you again."

Which meant he must have said something right tonight. "Thank you, Shels. If there is anything that I can do, please, just tell me."  
"I'll keep that in mind. What are you planning to do with yourself… assuming you're staying in town?"

Given what he had just promised, going back to Eli's was pretty much out of the question. "Well, I'll be helping Mom out as much as I can. She's not spending much time anywhere but the hospital these days and… I guess I'll have to go talk to my commanding officer and see if I can go back to work. I've been doing mechanic work with my hand for months, and it doesn't hurt as much as it used to, so they might let me back on active duty." He had been on long-term medical leave when he left, so he should still have his commission, in theory. "That is, when I get cleared to go back. I expect they'll run me through a physical and some PT again to be sure."

Shelby nodded. "They're not likely to send you North again, thank goodness. I wish they would pull the rest of the alchemists back out, or all the Amestrians really."

"You do?" Charlie had heard a lot of varying opinions back in town. The country was surprisingly divided on the subject he'd found, listening to the media.

"Don't you? You still have family up there, and not just Gloria. I don't want anyone else we know to die in someone else's fight. We got our people out, and while I feel terrible for all the innocent people in Drachma who are just caught in the middle, it's not our war."

"Well, as you said, we don't have to worry about anyone else getting sent up there," Charlie pointed out, not entirely sure how to respond directly to that opinion. "And if the news is accurate, Western Drachma is winning their fight, and the Eastern rebellion is pushing hard. They won't need Amestris or our allies at all soon and they didn't ask for any regular Amestrian soldiers." If they had, he would have been far more reluctant to consider even going to talk to his commanding officer about his commission. He could still take a medical discharge, and no one would have blamed him for it. "I can hardly believe Gloria willingly went back."

"She's doing her job," Shelby pointed out. "She and Alexei both. It's what they love, and it's part of his heritage, and his family. You know… they had a beautiful wedding."

Another thing he should have been there for. "I'm sure it was. Gloria has great taste."

"Abby thought she looked like a princess in an old folk tale." Shelby smiled, her expression much softer when she spoke of their daughter. "She's already starting to read, and she had quite the imagination."

"What does she like to pretend?"

That was all it took to get Shelby talking about their kids. No matter how she felt about him, or how guarded she was about letting him near them, she couldn't keep from bragging about how advanced Abby already was, and the little pretend stories she came up with, and her drawings, and Cameron and how much he loved animals more than anything, and how quickly Summer was growing, and walking, and trying to talk like her big sister and brother. She went on through the rest of dinner, and dessert, before winding down again.

"What about this one?" Charlie finally got up the courage to ask, nodding in her direction. "Are you doing okay?"

Shelby shrugged. "We're okay, though this has been harder than the last time. Doctor wants me to take it easier, but _that_ won't happen until the semester is over at the very least."

"You're due before that."

"Funny, I hadn't noticed."

"Sorry." Charlie took a bite of his panna cotta. "I just... worry. I meant it when I said if you need anything, just tell me. If there's any way I can make this easier for you going forward."

"We're doing all right, now."

Not sure how to respond to that, Charlie finished dessert in silence, then paid the bill. "Dinner again soon?" he asked as he offered her a hand to stand.

Shelby accepted it. "I need some time to process all of this," she replied, letting go again as soon as she was standing. "I'll call you."

"All right. I'll be waiting." Charlie had to resist the overwhelming urge to kiss her. Right now, that felt like it would be a very wrong step. Shelby's body language was still guarded. "Would you like me to walk you back to the car?"

"No. I'm fine, but thank you." Shelby finally gave him a small smile. "Have a good evening."

He watched her go, giving her a few seconds to get ahead and walk on her own. Then, Charlie followed, though he stopped at the edge of the lot, waiting until she was safely in the car, and pulling out of the parking lot, before heading for the bus stop to get a ride back to his mother's house. It had been a long, and complicated evening, though he couldn't help but feel that he might, if he didn't screw up again, have a chance.

Shelby had taken the flowers with her.


	68. Chapter 68

**January 23, 1991**

Sara was relieved that the incoming snow had held off. It meant that the next stage of her mission would not be delayed. As she stood next to the plane in the early dawn light, she refused to shiver. Drachma was settling into deep winter, and even her warmest military coat seemed barely adequate. Shortly, however, it wouldn't matter.

Inside the plane, Rothschild was already running through pre-flight checks.

"We are prepared."

Sara turned to see Gavril Mihalov approaching with his two aides, and security team. Ostensibly, this was a good will and inspection tour of several facilities in the Western Drachman region they had not been able to reach during the initial rallying cry. It was important for Gavril to make all of the people feel he had their best interests at heart, and to give them a strong sense that they could win this and have some agency in the future of their country. They also could not be entirely certain how much of them going along with these changes was just to keep their heads above water, rather than actually allying themselves with the Western Drachman cause. It was time to win them over.

"Good. All the supplies are on board and we are prepared to leave on schedule." Supplies was a very general word for the variety of items stored away on the aircraft; everything from food and emergency supplies should they have to land in the middle of nowhere in the Drachman winter, to extra ammunition for Mihalov's security team should things go terribly wrong; offerings to the cities of the far north, and Sara's own personal supplies. She felt no guilt at keeping Ted out of the loop when he had wanted information. Even her daughter had no idea the full extent of Sara's plan for this mission. Officially, she was simply there as proof of the alliance, and to speak on behalf of Amestris and the other countries supporting Western Drachma's break for independence.

Unofficially, that was between her and a very small number of people. What had started in Petrayevka on that fateful night she was rescued, would end, once and for all.

* * *

Given the option, Ted would have preferred not to get out of bed that morning. For one thing, he had been up twice in the night to walk and burp his son after Anika fed him. For another, waking up to Anika snuggled up against him after months of sleeping cold and alone sapped any motivation he had to be anywhere else. He had arrived home via plane only three days ago, debriefed, and been given forty-eight hours of leave, almost every moment of which he had spent at home with his family, catching up on news, and everything he had missed.

For just a few minutes, the house was nearly silent, the thin winter morning sun filling the room. Nikolai was asleep in his crib just a few feet away, the three-and-a-half-month-old breathing in a soft, steady rhythm. The shared warmth of two bodies beneath the blankets inspired indolence. Waking up warm, not starving, and without the sounds of men shouting outside was pure luxury.

 _This_ was worth coming home to.

:Well that was a pleasant sigh of contentment.:

Anika's eyes were open, and she was watching him with a teasing smile.

:How could I be anything but content here with you?: Ted grinned, kissing her warmly. :I missed you.:

:So you told me when you got home, and last night, and the night before, and that afternoon…: Anika chuckled. :We can't spend all our lives in bed, no matter how much fun that might be.:

:Hey, we've done other things,: Ted objected, pushing a lock of her white-gold hair from her eyes. Nikolai was not about to let himself be forgotten. He still needed to eat, and be changed, and Ted had snuggled him while he was awake at every opportunity. :I wish I didn't have to go to work today.:

"But you do." Anika sighed. "And so do I."

"There's that pesky real world again." Ted sat up. "Is today a Military Information work day or a Zoo work day?"

"Zoo," Anika replied as she also sat up, stretching her arms above her head. "We're finally introducing Myrda to the zoo's other white tiger today."

"Is the other tiger male or female?" Ted asked, his eyes caught up in tracing the beautiful lines and curves of his wife under her nightgown.

Anika grinned. "Male. Myrda is old enough to breed, and if they get along than they may eventually be allowed in the same cage to do so. The tigers' numbers are lower in the wild than they once were."

"Well, then for Myrda's sake, and this guy tiger's sake, I hope their first date goes well." Ted caved and reached his arms around Anika, hugging her ribs just below her breasts. "Then they can have fun." He kissed her neck.

Anika squeaked, but didn't push him away. "You are insatiable like a tiger."

"This is the first time we've been able to have as much sex as we like since the night we rescued your father," Ted pointed out. There hadn't been any of _that_ up in her father's stronghold, and when he'd left, she was still recovering fully from childbirth. "And you're even more beautiful than you were then."

"Is that so?" She twisted in his arms and kissed him again. "That would explain your utter lack of self-control, but I'm afraid neither one of us can be late today. I have a tiger match to make, and _you_ have to go to work and grovel, and look incredibly contrite, and convince the world that it's a horrible, _terrible_ thing that you were made to come home instead of earning more glory in battle."

"So horrible." Ted tried to make a serious face, but he couldn't keep it in the light of her expression. "What will I ever do, forced to be at home in Central with my stunning Anika, and our adorable baby boy?"

"Dishes," Anika retorted, "And change lots, and lots of diapers. You've got your share to catch up on, I assure you."

"And I promise to make up each and every one."

It was with extreme reluctance that Ted let go of her, and got up and went through the morning routine. He showered, shaved, and helped make breakfast, though Anika had everything down to a science; a fact that in no way surprised him. Not from the woman he'd watched pick off enemies with cool efficiency in mountain storms, and raised tigers and other large carnivores for a living. Still, he felt useful taking on half the cooking, and doing the dishes after they were done. "So, where does Nikolai go on zoo days?"

"Right now, he goes to Rochelle and Nathan's," Anika informed him. "They have a toddler, and Rochelle's been home with him, so she doesn't mind watching Nikolai for me on days I can't just take him with me."

That was reassuring. Roy's sister was a good person to take care of him, and also unlikely to care one bit about the fact that Anika and Nikolai were Drachman—or half—since her mother was Aerugean, and her husband Ishvallan. "Sounds great. And everything's going okay with work, you're sure?"

"You are such a worrier." Anika smiled at him as she finished putting a coat on Nikolai. "Thanks to your uncle, I had no problems getting a visa to stay in the country and file for citizenship, though that process will take more time. All of my colleagues from the zoo also have visas, so no one will try and evict us from the country."

"But are you being treated well?" If someone was treating her badly for being Drachman, Ted wanted to know.

"No one has been undermining me, or directly rude to me, if that is what you mean." Anika picked up the baby and turned to face Ted. "We get some strange looks, when people first hear our accents, but the others are picking up Amestrian quickly, and we have made it very publicly clear at work that we are grateful for what Amestris has done for us, and that we have never supported the Zinoveks. At least at the zoo, they are starting to relax around us now, and your family has been very accepting. As for the rest of town, I have to admit I haven't been out much on my own."

"What about the military?"

"The people I have been working with there respect me, I think, because they have to rely on my own knowledge of my country and my father, even if my name is one reason they listen." Anika rolled her eyes just a little as they headed towards the front door. "At first it was the only reason they listened. At least until I got in their faces a few times, and I was right and they ended up being wrong."

"Sounds like you've got them trained now." Ted couldn't help feeling a sense of pride as he held the door open for her to walk through.

"I'm working on it."

Together, they drove to Rochelle and Nathan Clarke's house, leaving Nikolai there for the day. Then Ted dropped Anika at the zoo, and turned the car towards Headquarters. It was time to see where things stood in the office.

SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK SCENE BREAK

"You look entirely too happy to be here, Proteus," The Shock Alchemist commented as he looked at Ted Elric, standing in front of his desk in full pressed uniform, at perfect attention.

"I will endeavor to be more remorseful if you wish, Sir," Ted replied with perfect seriousness, though a playful glint in his expression gave him away.

"Oh, you'll be remorseful when I'm done with you," Tore assured him. "At ease, Elric. Now that you're here, I've got a huge pile of absolute drudgery that's been waiting for you for weeks, and will probably continue for quite some time." Unfortunately, because he was now also doing a large portion of Fischer's job, and it looked like there was a good chance he was going to find himself with _all_ of that work in the near future. It was a promotion he was not looking forward to, but he was almost certain that even if Cal came out of his coma, his career was done.

"I'm sure it will be appropriately frustrating." Ted smiled outright this time. "What am I doing today, Shock?"

"Errands and inventory," Tore held out a pile of fifteen large sealed envelopes with reports that needed to go to various offices. "Once you deliver those, the State Alchemist store-room hasn't been inventoried in months. I want a complete update of everything that's in there, compared to what was last on the inventory, and it had better be exact. It has to go in our next report to the President's Office." There was no room for errors there.

Ted took the pile of envelopes. "I'm on it. How miserable do you want me to look?"

"While you're still enjoying yourself? An appropriate balance of harried and mildly irritated. Avoid surly. That is, until you get legitimately bored out of your mind. Then just be yourself and look appropriately miserable in front of anyone who outranks you."

"Yes, Sir." Ted saluted one more time, and left Tore's office.

Only when he was gone did Tore lean back in his chair, picking up his mug and draining the last dregs of his second cup of morning sludge. He knew he should be relieved that Proteus was—at least for now—perfectly toeing the line and was going to cooperate. Of course, the stakes were much bigger now than when he'd only had himself to think about.

Tore remembered the day he'd had to stop looking out for himself first… all too well. He'd spent most of it drunk off his ass, panicking about a son he hadn't known about, and mourning the ex-fiancée that had killed herself, leaving her child alone in the world. He remembered making the decision to go meet Dare, and to step up and be a father to the son he'd sired. Dare had been the first best thing to happen in his life, hard as it had been those early years.

His life was so utterly different now—and so much better, with Charisa and his children in it—he could only hope Ted found the same happiness in his own new family. It was going to be a hard road, restoring the military's trust in him, or getting promoted again, and living in a country that was not going to be entirely accepting of Anika, and might never be. Still, maybe this would steady him some; the woman he loved was here now, they both had jobs, and they had a child to look out for.

He could imagine half a dozen pithy quips Cal would have had to say about the situation. The fact that his best friend wasn't here to say them, because he was lying unconscious and unmoving in a hospital bed just made the absence worse. It was a distance that Tore could not cross. He had been to visit the hospital several times since Cal's return, mostly because he knew if other people didn't, Alyse would never leave to take care of herself. He had no idea if Cal could hear him talking, but it had been easier to keep up a string of chatter than to sit in silence.

 _You'd better wake up, old friend. I'm a lot more amusing when there's someone to groan at my jokes._

* * *

"You know, it's almost like you never moved back to Resembool."

Edward turned around from the table of plane schematics and chuckled at his grandson. "Oh, there's a few notable differences. For one thing, Al's cats are there. What are you doing here?"

Ted held out a sealed envelope. "Delivery from the State Alchemist's office. You're my last one for the morning."

Edward took the envelope. "They made you drive all the way out here to deliver this your first morning back? They're really going to follow through on making an example of you, I see." The Amestris airfield outside the city was growing rapidly now that it was an open secret that the military was developing aircraft. The hangers where they built and stored the aircraft, and the small factory manufacturing the parts, had expanded quickly, and an actual landing strip had been plowed flat and paved so the planes wouldn't have to take off and land on the road itself. The fence around the facility had also been expanded and reinforced.

Ted shrugged. "They could do anything short of deport Anika and Nikolai and I'd accept it, if it means keeping us together. There are worse punishments. I'm not in prison for desertion."

"On a technicality."

"Yep, and I'll take it. Is there anything else you need?"

"Yeah. Wait here a minute in case we need to send a reply back to this." No reason to make someone else make the trip back and forth. Edward opened the envelope and pulled out the single-page memo.

 _Production timeline has moved up to the last day of January. All aircraft must be mission ready. Expect the newest shipment of fuel from Lab 3 for test flights within the week. Ordinance to follow._

Edward blinked. Ordinance? Well now, that was interesting. So was the timeline change. The last he had heard, Amestris was planning on pulling out their alchemists by the end of February. He could see them needing a couple of the cargo planes for bringing people back, or taking last loads of support supplies to Mihalov and his people, or even Marskaya's men. It was possible that was when they wanted the border shored up. Or maybe they had intelligence that Savahin's military aircraft had missions that would be more of a threat to Amestris. Whatever the case, that was all the information it gave him.

"Something weird, Grandpa?"

He looked up and shrugged. "Just interesting." Ted didn't have clearance to know any more information.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Aunt Sara's mission would it?" There was suspicion in his tone.

Edward frowned. "Mission? Besides the tour of the Northern towns and facilities with Mihalov?" That, at least, was no secret.  
"I don't know. She… before I left, she told me that there were things she _couldn't_ tell me, and that it was something I was better off not knowing and being far away from. It was just… the way she was speaking made it sound like more than the usual _that's above your paygrade_ level of information. I don't have anything to go on that more than gut instinct and the way she looked and sounded, though."

Given Ted relied on those instincts most of the time, however, Edward was not about to automatically dismiss the younger alchemist's hunches. Not paired with the seemingly straightforward yet cryptic memo. "Well, whatever they're up to, Sara's right. You need to keep your nose out of it if you want to have a career when this is all over," he replied pointedly. "You just focus on getting your own life in order, and following commands."

"Cautionary advice from the Fullmetal Alchemist?" Ted grinned. "I'm almost disappointed."

Edward nodded. "They always say it's disappointing when you really get to know your heroes."

Ted laughed. "Who ever said you were my hero?"

Edward resisted the urge to swat his grandson with the envelope, if only just. "I don't need to send a response. Get back to work."  
"Yes, Sir."

When Ted had gone, Edward looked back down at the note. It was definitely odd that they were moving up preparations even further, when they were looking to pull more Amestrians _out._ If there was a reasonable explanation, Ed hadn't been in on the discussion. Which, given he was retired, should not have been all that strange.

Except that he was also getting suspicious hunches and, unlike Ted, he didn't have a career or even really an image to protect. So while Ted couldn't look into it, Edward definitely had a mind to stick his nose into the business and see if he could find out exactly what the planes he was helping build, for a government that had hidden the technology away for the better part of a century, were going to be used for if it was anything other than what he had been told.

* * *

Franz had a feeling Edward had questions for him of the nature that Franz wasn't in any position to answer. All through dinner that night with Ed, Winry, and the rest of his family, his father-in-law had that _look_ he got when he was working out a problem or mystery. He didn't otherwise say or do anything out of the ordinary, but he didn't need to. Franz had been wondering when Fullmetal would catch on that there were things he didn't know about that he probably felt he _should._

Franz waited through dinner, and Aithne's bath time, and the kittens and puppies' evening feeding, until Winry and Krista were caught up in conversation, and James was upstairs reading his daughter her bedtime story. He wasn't surprised when Ed followed him outside when he let the puppies out for an evening run in the back yard. They had grown quite a bit in the roughly eight months since Sara had talked him into bringing home a small menagerie. At almost-a-year, the kittens had done most of their physical growing, but were at the age where they dashed around almost as much as they slept. They, at least, were getting close to being adults. The puppies, unfortunately, had a couple more years before they reached full maturity. Before Sara had left, she and Franz had walked them every evening together. Now, the family took turns exercising them. Both dogs had gone for a walk before dinner, but they only settled down after a good evening romp.

He wasn't at all surprised when Ed followed him out onto the back deck where he stood, watching the puppies play tug-of-war with each other using their favorite rope toy. Ruffle—the red-and-white female—yanked harder than her black-and-white brother, Truffle, but as he was a little bigger and just as tough, it was a fairly even match most of the time.

"Isn't it just like a woman to leave a man home alone with the kids for months?" Ed quipped sarcastically, grinning as he watched the dogs at play.

"She does ask about them in every communication I get from her," Franz admitted. "If they're eating properly, and if I've kept up with the training regimen, we worked out with the dog trainer. If the kittens have caught anything interesting lately. She asks about them more than she asks about me."

"Which means either she's stopped worrying about you, or she's just given up nagging."

"That's me, the lost cause." Franz let the conversation lapse into quiet. If Edward wanted to be nosy, Franz wasn't going to give him a conversational opening.

Not that silences had ever been a deterrent for Edward Elric. "So, do you want to tell me why we're moving up the production timeline and what ordinance we're expecting?" his father-in-law asked in a quieter, much more down-to-business voice.

It was exactly the question Franz had been expecting. After all, Ed wasn't stupid. Franz had been expecting that, eventually, the Fullmetal Alchemist would realize there was another plan at work, under the official plan. "It's classified," Franz replied simply.

"The majority of this project is still classified," Ed retorted, not about to be dissuaded easily. "Al, Winry, and I agreed to sign on this with to make sure if it was finally going to happen, that it was done right. The aircraft we've been designing are transports, and for in-air defense in case of other enemy aircraft. The designs are complete. The pilots are trained, as are trainers. The machinists know what they're doing even if it's not a mechanized assembly line yet. The most recent fuel is more than adequate, and we've been in on all of it. Now tell me, what's going on?"

If there was anyone Franz would have wanted to have on his side in upcoming events, it was Edward, but if there were three people Franz knew would absolutely object to the next step in the plan, it was Edward, Alphonse, and Winry. It was absolutely critical that they _not_ be part of this plan for it to work. "You're right. Your part in this is complete, as you've pointed out. The government of Amestris appreciates your service in contracting yourselves for the duration of this project. But the next phase is classified to anyone who will not be directly involved."

Ed scowled. "I don't like the sound of that."

"You weren't supposed to, Ed. If I were at liberty to tell you I would, but this is no longer a family matter. I've already given all of you far more leeway than I should, as my detractors would happily tell you. You're welcome to stay in Central as long as you like, of course, but the work is done. I will tell you, that it might be best for all three of you if you aren't in Central in February."

It was all he could give him, and it was clear that his father-in-law was not at all pleased. Ed looked away from him, watching the dogs, with that expression that said he was working out something complex in his mind, and thinking very deliberately about what to say. Thinking Ed was always more intimidating than pushy, loud Ed. "Does Sara know?"

Not the question Franz had been expecting. "That's also classified."

"If you get my daughter killed _again_ , Heimler, I will never forgive you."

"That is definitely not my intention, Sir."

"I don't care about your intentions. The threat stands."

And it was a threat. Franz had no illusions otherwise. "Understood."


	69. Chapter 69

**January 24** **th** **, 1991**

It felt both satisfying and awkward for Charlie to walk through the doors of Central Headquarters back in uniform, with a clean bill of health, and orders to report back to work for the first time since he'd been injured in combat. So much had happened since then, that he felt like a different person. Well, maybe he was now. In any case, if he wanted to make up for his recent transgressions, and have any hope of making things right with Shelby, he was going to have to first prove he could effectively be Private Fischer, engineer corps.

He reported straight to his commanding officer's office, to find the Major General himself expecting him. Unexpected, Charlie hoped that this was a good sign and not a bad one.

"Sir, Private Fischer reporting for duty." Charlie stood at attention, waiting to see just what he would be assigned to next, and trying not to feel cowardly for hoping he would not be sent back out into a combat zone anytime soon.

"Welcome back, Private." Major General Schmidt nodded. "You've returned at an exciting time for the engineering corps. In fact, I have a new assignment for you." He held out a folded document.

Charlie reached out and took it. "Thank you, Sir. Where will I be assigned, Sir?"

"The new aeronautical division. Engines are a particular area of expertise of yours, and we have a number of new and experimental ones in need of regular and constant attention. Report out there this morning. Lieutenant Wentz will brief you on your specific duties and run you through the requisite training in the specific models on which you will be working."

They wanted him to work on aircraft engines? Charlie fought to hide his surprise, nodding affirmatively. "Understood. Thank you, Sir."

"Dismissed."

Back outside the office, Charlie took a moment to read over the written orders and confirm that everything he had just heard was true, and also if there were any more details that he ought to know. For once, there was little else, beyond what the Major General had told him. His new life was going to be working on aircraft engines, which was both fascinating, and did not involve being shot at every day.

"I see you've already spoken with General Schmidt."

Startled, Charlie looked up and saluted as his eyes fell on another General's insignia before he even registered who was standing in front of him.

Tore Closson raised one eyebrow, and the subtlest hint of a grin crossed his features. "At ease, Private Fischer."

Charlie relaxed his arm, even though his heart was still beating fast. He really needed to get back in the swing of things. "Good morning, Sir. Yes, I have."

Closson nodded. "You decided to keep the facial hair I see."

"It's cut to regulation specs." It was, wasn't it? Charlie was sure he had read them appropriately when trimming his goatee this morning.

Apparently, he hadn't hidden his concern effectively, because his father's best friend finally cracked a smile. "Relax. It is completely to regulation standards. Did Schmidt happen to tell you how to get to your new assignment?"

"No, he didn't," Charlie realized, suddenly a little at a loss. He didn't have a car. His mother had dropped him off on her way to the hospital, and it was almost certain there was no public transportation out to the military's private facility outside the city.

"I thought not. There's a transport truck that takes the engineers to and from the facility from here at Headquarters, but you've missed this morning's transport. It's not your fault. I'm about to head out there myself. Come with me and I'll give you a lift this time."

"Thank you, Sir." That could have been a disaster. He followed Closson as the General started off briskly down the hall. The other man didn't speak to him again until they reached the military garage and the older man got the key to one of the unremarkable black vehicles.

Only once they were off HQ property did Closson speak again. "Any news on your old man this morning?"

"Nothing new. He was still unconscious last night." In the nine days Charlie had been back in Central, his father had barely shown any signs of life. If it weren't for the diagnostic equipment displaying basic vital signs, he might not have believed his father was actually alive. "He hasn't tried to flatline in a few days though, so there's that."

"It's an improvement." Closson looked understandably disappointed. After a minute, he changed the subject. "And how are things going on wooing your wife?"

Now there was a loaded question. "Slowly," Charlie admitted. "Right now, I am just grateful we're talking. We've had a couple of dinner meet-ups since I got back. I'm not allowed anywhere near the house yet." That was really all he wanted to say on the subject. Dinners, including that first one, amounted to two meals and a much shorter chat over coffee and chocolate late one evening. Based on his mother's surprisingly willingness to leave his father long enough to watch their children while those meet-ups happened, Charlie was fairly sure his mother was rooting for their eventual reconciliation. "Not that I'd want to upset the kids if things don't work out, but damn it I miss them." The more Shelby, and his mother talked about them, the worse it got. Even harder still had been being in town and being unable to attend Damien's birthday party since he had agreed to follow Shelby's insistence that he not interact with the kids until they had a better idea of where _they_ stood. Charlie just hoped they had things worked out before she gave birth to number four. If she would let him come over, he'd have been doing everything he could to help out around the house, and Charlie couldn't remember the last time he had wanted so badly to do dishes, or laundry. "Not that I can really blame her for not trusting me."

"If you put the kids first, and work things through together, than whichever way things end up, at least you'll know you tried," Closson replied. "I know that's not the most reassuring message, but at least you won't regret never having tried to fix things."

That had the ring of someone speaking from experience. For a moment, Charlie hesitated. "Do you?"

Closson eyed him as they paused at a stop sign. He focused on the road until they had turned left and continued on their way out of the city. They were near the walls now. "I never really got the chance to try," he replied. "Not that I think we would have gotten back together, but maybe it could have saved a life." He paused again, a considering expression, as if he was trying to decide how much to tell. "I don't know how much you know, but my wife is not Dare's birth mother."

Somewhere, Charlie thought he had heard that once or twice. It wasn't a big hushed secret, but before it had never seemed relevant. Dare called Charisa Closson Mom, and treated her just as any son would treat their mother, and she was Brandon's mother, and he knew Camelia was adopted. It had never really seemed important. "What happened to her?"

"She killed herself on Dare's first birthday."

Charlie almost choked. He did stare.

"Before I got the call about it, I didn't even know Dare existed," Closson continued. "I'd broken up with her over a year before. Didn't even know she was pregnant. I don't even know if she knew. If she did, she never told me."

"Why did you break up?"

"It wasn't a good relationship." Closson shrugged. "I mean, we had a good time, but most of what we did was drink and screw around. It wasn't really healthy for either one of us. _She_ wanted to get married, and I didn't. I couldn't even fathom us ever being responsible enough to do something like be parents, or buy a house. So, I ended it. We never talked again, and the next time I heard anything about her at all, she was dead, and my options were to raise my son, or give him up to the same foster system I hated being in; and I'll never know, if I'd ever reached out to at least check on her, if maybe I could have at least made her life a little better, and maybe she'd still be alive."

Well that was a lot to process, but Charlie thought he got the gist of the message. There were worse things than an amicable divorce, and no matter which way things went, he could still make sure his children and Shelby had what they needed, but he would know he had tried.

The car stopped, and Charlie realized they had arrived at the airfield gates. The guard checked both of their military IDs, then let them through. After he parked, Closson gave Charlie one last nod. "Go impress your new supervisors. If you can start to get one part of your life straightened out, it will help with the rest."

"Thanks. I'll do my best." Charlie got out of the car and headed towards the door that had _Office_ stenciled on it in black paint. He certainly hoped it was true, because he had a lot of areas of his life to get back in order.

* * *

Winry couldn't help but feel that it was a very abrupt and possibly wrong decision to be going home now, but Edward had made it very clear that Franz had given him a strong hint that they should leave and, for once, Edward seemed inclined to not argue with a suggestion that bordered on being an order.

Alphonse, who had been apart from Elicia since she went back to Resembool earlier than they had to check on the house, and reassure the cats they hadn't ben abandoned, seemed less upset about the suddenness with which their part of this project had ended, and that they weren't being included in the next step.

Maybe it was just that it was how the military worked, and Alphonse had always been better about following directions than Edward. Still, Winry found herself dying of curiosity to know what it was they were specifically not being told. Even though she had grilled her husband on everything he had been told and what he had inferred from what he had _not_ been told, it felt like something was missing. "I really can't believe you're just letting this go," she finally commented one more time as the three of them settled in the private car they had reserved for their train to Resembool. "Either of you, really."

"When the highest-ranking military officer in the country tells you the best place to be is out of town, and can't tell you why, there's something big going on," Alphonse pointed out, not for the first time. He shrugged. "If Franz can't tell _us_ than it's not only big, but dangerous to everyone involved. Which means the fewer people who know about it, the safer everyone is."

"But is that fear for our lives, or just people's reputations?"

"Probably both," Edward adjusted his suitcase on the rack before sitting down beside her. "For whatever reason, he doesn't want our names attached to whatever happens next. If we aren't in Central, it's very easy to say we weren't involved and we have an alibi.

"It would be nice to know why I might need an alibi," Winry countered.

Edward shrugged, sliding one arm around her shoulders as it rested on the back of the seat. "I haven't worked that out yet, but as _incredibly_ hard as it is to believe, sometimes attaching my name to a project doesn't immediately make people like it."

Alphonse snorted. "You're right, Brother. No one would ever believe _that._ "

Winry refrained from rolling her eyes. "You two."

 **January 26** **th** **, 1991**

Ted grabbed the towel from the gym bench and began vigorously drying his hair after his post-workout shower. With the grueling schedule Closson had assigned him, the only time he could get his workouts in was very first thing in the morning if he arrived earlier. It meant getting out the door even earlier in the mornings, but he couldn't afford to lose his combat edge.

So, his head was covered when he heard voices behind him. There were always a few soldiers in the gymnasium at this hour, so he ignored them. At least until they stopped, and someone raised their voice, obviously intending to be heard.

"What are you doing here, Drachma lover?"

There was a very low statistical probability that they weren't addressing him, but the last thing he intended to do was provoke anyone. He didn't need any trouble. So he pretended to ignore them.

A hand grasped the towel and yanked. "I'm talking to you, _alchemist._ "

Ted took a long, slow breath before turning around, standing as he did so.

There were five soldiers behind him, none of whom technically outranked him, though he did not recognize them by face either. "Did you need something, Lieutenant?" he asked coolly of the man holding the towel, who looked to be the highest ranked among them.

They all looked smug, but not at all friendly. "Yeah, I asked what you're doing here."

"I would think that was obvious," Ted replied. They might think they had a psychological advantage on him, as he was clad only in his shorts. Clearly, they didn't know who they were dealing with. "This is a gym."

"Aren't you the comedian? You don't belong here, traitor. Who do you think you are showing your face after what you did?"

There was no way these guys had any idea what had really happened while Ted was in Drachma, the first time or this time. _Stay calm…stay professional._ "My duty, soldier, same as everyone else here."

"Is that what they call letting a Drachman bitch polish the family jewels? Or maybe you were off kissing hers?"

"That's enough Second Lieutenant," Ted scowled, stifling the fury that raged up at the insults. He didn't care about his own reputation so much, but to refer to Anika that way… "Or I'll be reporting the lot of you to your superior officers. Or have you forgotten that I outrank you?"

"Oh, we haven't forgotten," another one—this one heavier and taller than the lean smart-mouth in the front—sniggered. "Do you really expect them to do anything? That rank on your shoulder isn't worth much when they've got you running grunt-work errands."

"There's a lot of folks who would love to see you run out of here," the first took it up again. "Everyone knows you should've been Court Martialed for what you've done. Go ahead and _report us_ , see what happens. You're not protected anymore. And if you want to keep yourself and your little whore safe… stay out of our way."

Only the very real threat of facing further disciplinary action for beating up five subordinates for mouthing off—no matter how insulting—in the HQ gymnasium kept Ted from doing just that. He was certain he could probably take all five of them, even half naked, without resorting to alchemy. Which meant he only had one other course of action, because it was pretty clear these five were spoiling for just that.

Ted shrugged, relaxed his muscles, and flashed them his cockiest grin, though there was no humor in his eyes. "Try me."

It was a calculated risk. They might attack him, but as long as they clearly did so first, and in a group, anything he did would be clearly self-defense. There was also the possibility that stalling would give enough time for someone else to walk in, and they would be much less likely to follow through with witnesses.

Unless those witnesses were also their friends.

Apparently, his confidence and lack of any obvious anger was, as he had hoped, not the response they had expected. A couple of them glanced quickly at their ringleader, who looked irritated.

Ted did not give them time to respond. "Then if you'll excuse me, I'm the coffee boy for President's meeting with the Higher Brass this morning. If I'm late, there will be a lot of awkward questions. You know how it is." He shrugged slightly as he reached for his clothes, casually turning his back as if he wasn't worried about them at all. Not that he wasn't keenly aware of the exact location of each of them, and every sound and shifting movement as he did so.

He could tell they wanted to rush him, to beat him to a pulp, but his words had given them pause. If he was late, given his current situation, they _would_ send someone to find out why he wasn't exactly where he was supposed to be, playing the good military dog.

Chattering voices coming in from the hallway broke the moment. Ted heard them scatter, and as he turned around to see a couple of lower ranking State Alchemists come in ready to work out, he noticed that none of the other officers were anywhere to be seen.

"Something wrong, Proteus?" one of them asked, looking puzzled at his expression.

Maybe a bit of his relief had shown on his face. Ted shook his head, and went back to dressing. "Not a thing, Razor. See you in the office." By the time he finished dressing, the other two alchemists had changed into their workout gear and were warming up.

Ted exited the gymnasium, making his way back to the office at a brisk, businesslike pace. If it seemed a little quick to passersby well, he _was_ supposed to be jumping at every higher officer's beck and call. If he had anywhere to be, he had better be there on time.

Right now, he should probably see if he could actually arrange to take coffee up to Franz's morning briefing with the other Generals stationed in Central. He had them like clock-work, which was the only reason Ted hadn't had to guess at a functional alibi.

He schooled himself to calm by the time he returned to his assigned office, his heart no longer pounding, but Ted couldn't help from wondering at every glance or look given him in the halls. While some were just people taking note of who else was around them, and while he was used to scrutiny—and generally ignoring it—the encounter put a sinister glint behind every glance. How many of them really did believe what was being said about him abandoning Amestris? How many felt the way the Second Lieutenant and his friends did about running him off? Enough that they would be willing to risk their own careers to beat up a superior officer.

While he didn't really care if they thought him a coward or not, Ted fully intended to report the incident. He'd tell Closson about it, and let Closson handle investigating who it might have been specifically. Shock would be circumspect, and it would be taken care of. Much as he ached to handle this himself, because he certainly _could,_ this was potentially more dangerous to himself, and to Anika and Nikolai, than he had really expected.

Amestris was not the safe place it seemed compared to being directly in the fighting in Drachma. No matter how much he might want to pretend it was, old animosities were apparently not anywhere near as dead as he would have liked, or as many people might think. Closson might know something about that too; and if not, he would make sure someone reliable dug into it.

Ted had never been so grateful to reach his desk, even piled high with paperwork as it was, ready for filing. It was going to be a very long day.

* * *

"It's awfully beautiful for a prison, isn't it?" Sara commented glibly to Gavril Mihalov, who was seated beside her in the back seat of the black car as it drove through the large metal gates and up the sweeping drive towards the massive estate. If there was a place she had not expected to see again, it was this one.

"The Valhovs were one of our older ancestral noble families," Mihalov nodded thoughtfully, his expression grim. "That they came to this is a shame, if not all that uncommon in Drachma's rather checkered history."

He had expressed surprise at her original wish to return here, but the information available was too valuable to miss out on finding, and Sara was certain that Valhov would have kept everything of real secrecy here, and not in his much more accessible house in Petrayevka; the one in which he had died. "Hopefully we're changing that for the better," she mused aloud. "You said the servants abandoned the house."

"Looted it and ran," Mihalov confirmed. "When our team arrived to secure the place, they found the front gates left open, and everything empty. His servants even took his hunting dogs with them. Mostly they took portable things of high monetary valuable as far as we could tell; paintings, jeweled lamps, vases, antique rugs, the silver and crystal. I hope what you're looking for is still there."

"You told me that his personal study was still locked." That was what mattered to her most. Anything of real value for her purposes would be in that room.

"Not for lack of trying, but yes. Though the lock itself is pretty scratched up from people trying. It looks like no one on his staff was ever trusted with a key, and the doors are heavy enough no one managed to just break them down. The hinges are on the inside."

That was Valhov, and apparently his ancestors as well; never truly trusting of anyone, not even the people they paid to take care of them and their home. No reliance on loyalty. Probably wise, given how quickly they had split and run at his death. "I can open it," she reassured him. It wasn't the first time she had told him this, but they had talked it all to death enough on the way here that there wasn't all that much to say. They _had_ been making visits to the places they had promised, to meet with various town and prison leadership, continuing to garner trust, and check on their new allies and their supplies. This, however, was the real goal of the entire thing. If they found here what Sara expected to find, then it might just be the yank that unraveled the rest of Savahin's plans.

"We'll see in a minute."

The car pulled up around the wide circular drive out front, and Sara and Gavril Mihalov got out in front of the huge double doors that Sara had never seen from this angle: outside.

It was an impressive building of two stories plus attic space, but grand stories with rooms with vaulted ceilings; a castle more than a house, all of the rich, deep stone that could be so easily mined in these mountains. A real fortress once, and now an empty one, echoing with the ghosts of the dead.

"Lead the way," Mihalov gestured before turning to the driver. :Keep it running, Max. We won't be too long.:

No, they definitely didn't want to linger. Though Sara intended to be thorough. It had been a three hour drive out of the way of their official path of progress to make this trip. The plane would have been far too obvious, so it had to be done the slow way.

The front door, as it turned out, was unlocked, and they were able to walk right in. Sara reached out and tested a light switch, almost surprised to find out that the electricity was still on as the chandelier above them sprang to light. "Well, at least we won't be doing this in the dark. Though you might want to tell someone back in that town to shut off electric to the estate, since no one's paying for it."

"I'll make sure someone sends a note."

It was surreal, and a little unnerving, to stride purposefully through these halls without a body guard; or to stride through them at all. When last she had been here, as much as he had allowed her to heal, Sara had been Valhov's prisoner in a very nice gilded cage. She had been his pawn, his potential tool to get information and other things he wanted, all wrapped up in the guise of a seemingly cooperative, sometimes jovial aging man.

He had tried to win her over with faked civility and better circumstances. Her room was upstairs, as far from stairs or doors as it was possible to be. They would not be going there today. There was no need. Sara headed straight down one hallway, then another, heading like an arrow for her target, refusing to glance behind her or flinch. Once, attempting this approach without an immediate summons would have gotten her dragged physically back to her room and locked in until summoned.

All around them were the signs of theft and abandonment. Missing drapes; discolored spots on the walls where paintings and tapestries had been removed. All of the art pieces and porcelain that had sat on decorative tables had vanished. Doors hung open or ajar, and empty dusty rooms showed just as many missing items, as reported.

The door to the study looked a little like a giant cat had tried to maul it; it was scraped, and scratched, and dented. The metal of the lock looked slightly bent and possibly charred. Sara tried not to snort too loudly. Who would have tried melting a door lock?

Sara didn't even need sophisticated alchemy to open the door. There were plenty of things she could have done to rig a new key with minimal effort. Instead, she clapped her already gloved hands together, summoning a rush of wind down the hallway. "Better step aside," she warned Mihalov before she simply drew on as much alchemical power as she could—

-and blasted the doors, until the hinges cracked, and they fell inward.

Immediately, the wind stopped.

Mihalov was staring at the doors appreciatively. For while they had cracked, broken, twisted slightly, and fallen wide open, they had not broken anything on the other side of them, and most of the room looked entirely unruffled. "Nice work."

"Thank you." Sara stepped into the lion's den, and had to pause, fighting for a moment with her own inner instincts that were telling her to run, run the other way. She could still smell the lingering presence here of Valhov's favorite liquor… his cologne. The room was permeated with his presence.

"Do you have any idea where the information would be kept?" Mihalov's tone was soft, as if he was aware that he might be interrupting very personal thoughts.

Sara was grateful. She nodded. "Check the desk. There are several drawers. Probably locked. I can open those too, without the theatrics." She glanced around, confirming that every book, painting, and pen was in place where he had left them. Really, nothing had been touched. "There is also a locked vault the size of a small room behind that tapestry," she gestured to the wall at the end of the room to the right, behind a sofa. "He had no idea I figured that out. There are also two smaller ones tucked behind the books on the left bookcase, one on the third shelf, and one on the fourth. The combinations are 64379 and 22418."

"Let me guess, he didn't know you knew those either?" Mihalov grinned as he headed for the bookcase.

"He never did give me enough credit for being observant to things he thought were unobservable." Sara shrugged, deciding to start with the desk. "The hidden room was easy. The only parts of the hardwood warn from scrape marks that much are there, where the sofa has obviously been moved out from the wall far more than any other piece of furniture in the room. I noticed it the very first time he invited me in here to try and seduce me over to his side."

Mihalov shuddered slightly. "I knew him, at least professionally. I can't imagine he was all that suave."

"He was not." Sara pulled out a piece of chalk from her pocket, drew a transmutation circle on the desk drawer by the lock, and proceeded to open it. "He tried to win me over with his dead wife's clothes and jewelry."

"As I recall, she had rather opulent tastes." Mihalov pulled the books away from the first shelf, revealing one safe, and trying the first combination she had given him. It opened silently and swung open.

In front of her, Sara opened the desk drawer, and pulled out anything paper, before rifling through the pens and clips and various other items, and determining nothing else of value was to be had in that particular drawer; no photographs, no keys. "Opulent is putting it nicely. Most of it was downright gaudy, and I couldn't have worn her clothes if I stuffed myself." It had been sizes beyond anything she had ever fit into, except maybe in her later months of pregnancy with James.

The pile of papers in front of her was nothing to write home about. Flipping through them, Sara found mostly old scribblings and thoughts that, upon translation, were everything from personal rantings on the nature of the country to a couple of pieces of worn and terrible poetry. There were several letters that went back and forth between him and his wife, and a couple of other correspondents, but mostly it was decades old items that seemed to be more sentimental in nature. She stuck the letters in a folder anyway for further analysis later, then moved on to the next drawer.

"It was, as I understand it, mostly a marriage of money," Mihalov nodded, sounding not at all sympathetic as he brought over to lock boxes he had apparently found in the first small safe, and an envelope, and a ledger. "Which is to say, she wanted everything she could have with his money, and he wanted the political connections he could get by marrying her. They were quite the pair; rather perfect for each other in that way really." He shook his head, and opened the envelope first.

Sara continued opening drawers. "I imagine so. Marriage can be a strange thing. Of course, love can be a very strange thing, but I'm not sure how much that sounds like love."

"More a common purpose, though I can't imagine she actually cared one bit about his taking up the cause of championing the common people in order to get himself a better position in government, since he really never cared about regular working Drachmans as people." Mihalov paused as he flipped through the thick stack of papers from the large envelope. "Now, these are interesting."

"What is it?" Sara paused in her rifling through the third drawer of half-dead writing instruments, a box of cigars, and an unwelcome beetle.

"Purchase orders for a wide variety of things, and reports from unnamed individuals on very closed-door meetings in the government halls in Petrayevka. In fact, a good portion of this looks like the financial backing and information that led to several unclaimed terrorist attacks years back. You might remember at least one of them. It happened while Trisha and Roy were here with General Closson on a diplomatic mission."

Sara remembered hearing about it only too well. The fact that the two were connected was, at this point, not even shocking to her. "Well, it proves the kind of scum he was, and that he was willing to risk civilians and a lot of other people, though it doesn't entirely build a bomb to undermine Savahin with. Is his name in there anywhere?"  
"Not yet. There are very few names actually, and the few I've seen so far, I know for a fact are dead, either in prison or in uncomfortably convenient accidents. Still, this will go a long way towards connecting some of the dots we've been working on figuring out for years. I'll be surprised if we get too many names. That was one of the big things that kept us from hunting them all down years ago; they were even more secretive and fragmenting than our current underground resistance movement."

"If anyone has records that will implicate or right out give us the names of anyone who hasn't yet come out of the walls, or who might be an unknown threat, it would have been Valhov," Sara insisted. "I'm certain of it." If there was anyone that might be a double agent even now, pretending to work with the resistance but feeding information back to Savahin, or playing to change sides, their name would be in these files. Of course, there were probably names in here of men who had been serving the government but hiding within Valhov's secret collection of insurgents reporting on what little they know, but that seemed less likely, given how utterly shocked most people seemed to have been at the revelation that it was Valhov who was behind the initial bloody and terrifying coup. Any supposedly sympathetic name found here was therefore suspect.

They kept searching. Sara found more letters in the desk, and a few more names, though no one big, and several that were once again confirmed to be dead, or imprisoned. Imprisoned was useful, if they really were still locked up. If they had been sent out here to the West to any of these prisons, then chances were they could be questioned. Not _everyone_ locked up in the prison system had been released and pardoned. If they were now free, then either they had changed sides and would be willing to talk, or they had already fled East and would be well out of reach.

One of the locked boxes contained several items of incredible value; a golden watch, a collection of jewel studded rings that must have been in the family for generations, and a ruby the size of a small egg. There were a few necklaces that matched, a couple of very old metal keys, and some incredibly old coins. The second lock box proved to contain important family documents, including the original very old hand-written deed to the estate which must have been several hundred years old, more recent birth certificates of Valhov, and his direct lineage back three generations. "This is probably a copy of the deed, even as old as it is," Mihalov commented. "The original is likely around here in a frame somewhere."

"Possibly the vault room," Sara considered. It was not on the walls and it seemed unlikely it would have been hanging anywhere else in the house where it could be stolen.

The rest of the papers in that box were other deeds and financial paperwork for the estate; to the cars, lands bought around it, and various expensive items in the house. Not that those would do any good unless someone wanted to go through the effort of tracking them down now. Sara didn't care about those.

They did one more careful once-over of the room, removing every book from the shelves, moving every painting, checking the baseboards, the furniture, the window frames, and anything else that might hold secret compartments or pockets. Aside from some spare change that fell out of the cushions of a chair, they found little.

"Let's see what's left." Sara turned her attentions to the wall as they slid the couch away from it, and removed the tapestry.

As she had always suspected, a full-sized door stood behind it, though it had no knob to stick out, only a flat, round space. The door was flush the wall and appeared to slide directly into it. Into its lock, one of the keys from the lock box fit perfectly. It turned with a very quick click, and slid open noiselessly, revealing the dark gaping hole of a room behind.

"Well that's inviting," Mihalov quipped. He stepped forward first, and reached his hand inside, feeling around to the right side of the door for a switch. Since the door slid left, it made sense the switch wouldn't be on that side.

Inside the room, a light came on brightly, revealing a treasure trove of artifacts, larger family heirlooms that had been too important to display…and the best gift of all.

"Filing cabinets!"

One entire wall was lined with them. Sara felt an overwhelming hunger to know what was in them devour her, and she stepped forward, fighting her eagerness with caution. The room might have traps. She wasn't worried about alarms, but that was not the only thing that might be there. "Let me make sure it's safe," she suggested, drawing another transmutation circle on the wall. She appreciated the Mihalov patiently waited for her to do her work, without argument.

The only part of transmutation she needed to check for traps was reading the make-up of the walls, floor, and ceiling of the room, and the air within it. While she highly doubted any traps that might involve inhalable toxins, physical traps seemed highly probable.

For the most part, the walls of the room were just that, incredibly old walls of stone, eventually lined in wood, insulated, plastered, and with modern wiring running through them. Opening the door had not set off a trap, and neither had turning on the light. Both of which would have been too easy to catch Valhov himself. Careful inspection did not find anything that felt like it might be a pressure sensor, or electricity running to odd locations. The possibility that he trusted enough in his servants, and in the security of the office itself, to not need a trap seemed unlikely, and yet she did not sense anything out of the ordinary. "This is going to sound crazy, but I think we're actually clear."

"I find that hard to believe," Mihalov commented skeptically.

"I'm just as surprised as you are," Sara admitted. "I think only one of us should go in. That way if we've missed something the other can hopefully get them out, or take what we have found so far and make use of it. So, I should be the one to go in." She had the best chance of getting herself free if anything happened either and she was more expendable if it came down to it; not that she said that to Mihalov, and she had absolutely never said anything of the sort in front of Franz, or in any messages to him. He would never have allowed her to come if he thought she would do anything outside of orders that might put her at risk of not coming home.

Mihalov grimaced. "I don't like it, but you're right. I'll keep the door open; you look around."

Sara stepped cautiously into the room. There was still every possibility of traps in the filing cabinets, or behind any of the objects in the room. She would have to go slowly. Once Mihalov was in place, she began cautiously searching the room, starting with alchemy to assess any hidden dangers before moving each object, or opening drawers. She found the original framed title to the land ennobling the family, as they had suspected. She also found documents that seemed to be detailed accountings of the properties and estates, and histories of the family, going back centuries. Not immediately useful, but likely fascinating. If nothing else, they might end up in a museum someday. "It's a good thing the car has a large trunk," she commented as she sifted through more drawers.

Finally, she found what she suspected they were looking for, when she reached the cabinet farthest to the left. Mostly because it was the first one that she found that was booby-trapped. "There's poisonous gas canisters in this one," she commented, grinning at the simple genius of it. "There's a pin set to puncture them when the top drawer opens."

"Can you disable it?" Mihalov asked, sounding eager.

Sara nodded. "It shouldn't be a problem as long as I'm careful." Very careful. Using the transmutation circle, she had sketched on the metal of the cabinet, she transmuted the needle into a ring that fell harmlessly into the cabinet drawer still on the inside. Then, much more cautiously, she transmuted the gas in the canisters, rendering it inert and non-toxic. _No one but an alchemist would be able to disable this,_ she realized. And an alchemist would have been one of the last people Valhov would expect to have in his home. He must have had a way of disabling them, but it probably involved a key. Or, perhaps he had only set the trap when he left for Petrayevka, and had no intention of letting anyone live who ever opened the drawer.

Only after checking the other drawers as well, and being absolutely certain she had done the transmutation correctly, did Sara dare to open the first drawer, and even then she was prepared to transmute the air around her face and Mihalov's into temporary protective helmets of air to keep them breathing long enough to run out if needed.

The drawer clicked, and slid open on smooth, silent oiled runners. Only after several seconds did Sara dare to breathe. "It worked."

Behind her she heard a long exhale and realized that Mihalov had also been holding his breath. "Let's see what he was willing to kill people over then, shall we?"

It took only a few moments of looking at the folder headings and pulling them open to realize that they had found exactly what Sara had been expecting. "This is it," she breathed, trying not to get too excited at the idea of just how much damage they could do to the Zinovek regime, and how much they could help new resistance movement with this information. "It's all here: names, records, documented evidence of every one of his associates who has been involved in the Zinoveks' plans going back nearly thirty years. He's even got files in the back of potential allies, and then…ah here we are, noted enemies or _problems_ to be resolved."

"Let me guess, I fall in that last category."

Sara nodded as she found a folder labelled Gavril Mihalov. She pulled it out. "He definitely considered you in the non-corruptible side, though he doesn't seem to have you down as much of a threat other than your relationship to your uncle. He certainly miscalculated there, didn't he?"

"I'd like to think so."

"We're going to need to take this entire drawer," Sara sighed after a few minutes of searching. "There's too much here that's important, and too much to sort through in the time we have. There's a store room down the hall. I'm sure we can find some boxes to repurpose." Once they got all of this sorted through, they should know every ally they could make use of, every double-agent, every secret hideaway and ally; any spies they had in other countries. The records were immaculately detailed.

With all of this at their fingertips, Sara was certain they would find the key to unraveling the entire Zinovek regime. _Franz may have gotten our revenge, but I'm going to bring justice down on the heads of everyone you ever worked with, Gervase. You're going to regret thinking you could use me as a pawn. It's going to destroy everything you ever cared about._

When she turned around, Mihalov's expression was as eager as she felt. "Let's find those boxes and get to work."

* * *

Ted managed to finish the filing, and re-organizing of the files in the office by the end of the day, but only by sheer force of will and a determination to put his best effort into everything in the hopes of shortening the time in which he was in hot water with the senior staff.

Focusing on his work also helped keep his mind off the near-altercation that morning. He had left a short, written report about it on Closson's desk, and hadn't been asked any further questions about it, so he presumed he had given his commanding officer everything he needed to look into the situation. Or at least, he assumed that Closson would make sure someone looked into it. Threatening a higher-ranking officer was an offense that couldn't be ignored and maintain military discipline. To Ted, it also noted a concerning lack of fear of repercussions. He hoped they just hated him personally, but somehow Ted didn't quite hope that he was really the focus of all of that animosity.

Nothing was said to him about it by the time he got off shift at the end of the day, so Ted took himself straight home, feeling a little more anxious than usual to see Anika and Nikolai, and just make sure they were all right.

Since he had dropped Anika and Nikolai both off that morning, Ted retraced the route, swinging by and picking Nikolai up first, then going to get Anika. He felt better having his son safely in arms, particularly as the little blond boy seemed quite content to be there. "When you're old enough to focus on them you're really going to like the zoo animals," Ted promised as they parked in the lot closest to the staff entrance and walked in to wait for her. The woman sitting at the gate recognized him and let them pass. "Now, let's find mommy."

They were just early enough he knew that Anika was probably still finishing up with the evening feeding for the large cats, so there was no cause for hurry. All he would do arriving too quickly was get in the way and be a distraction, so he took Nikolai the scenic route. The day wasn't as cold as it could be, so they took a little time to stop and look at some of the animals on the way.

So it was, that he ran into Mrs. Volkova first. "Good afternoon, Ted!" She smiled kindly at him and waved, her eyes going immediately to the baby. "Hello, little darling."

Ted noted that her Amestrian was improving quickly. Of course, they all had strong motivation to become as fluent as possible as quickly as possible. "Good afternoon, Dinara," he addressed her, smiling back. "Nik's doing just fine, thanks. Aren't you little guy?" The baby blinked back at the both sleepily. "How are you?" he asked, the older woman, trying not to let his concern show in his voice.

He wasn't sure he succeeded. Mrs. Volkova continued to smile, but the politeness it in bespoke a public face. "Doing well, today," she replied specifically. "Still seems a bit warm for this time of year, but my old bones like that well enough. So, I'm getting used to it."

"I'm glad to hear it. Anika tells me they've been very accepting here at the zoo."

"Yes, our colleagues have been very professional," Volkova replied, though she softened the formality of the statement with her smile. "I play cards with a couple of the ladies from the Ornithology department, and a gentleman from the Bear exhibits once a week. They have been teaching me all the Amestrian games, and I have been teaching them the ones I know."

"That sounds fun. We should have you over for cards," Ted suggested. He had seen very little of the other Drachmans that had come with them since his return. He understood that they were busy settling into new lives, but it still felt strange. Anika, at least, got to see them at least in passing when she was at work.

"That would be lovely," Mrs. Volkova agreed. "I would like to hear what news you might have that the news does not."

"I'm afraid I don't know much," Ted admitted, "But I can share some of what I've seen." Nothing classified of course, but he had enough stories of conversations with locals and general information about what they had saved that he could give as good news.  
"There you are!" Any response was interrupted by the pleased exclamation of Anika as she joined them. "It's chilly. You could have waited in the car," she pointed out, kissing Ted on the cheek.

"We were having a good time looking at the animals," Ted shrugged. "Besides, it's not that cold."

"Now he sounds like a proper man," Mrs. Volkova chuckled. "I will let you get going. Let me know when we want to have dinner." She turned and headed away.

"Making plans?" Anika asked as they headed back towards the car.

"I just thought it might be nice to have friends over for dinner. You may get to see them at work, but I don't," Ted pointed out. "At least, not the ones who are both of our friends." Once his team was all back in Amestris, he ought to have them over. They were the few members of the Amestrian military he was certain did not hold Anika's bloodline or origins against her. At least, he was fairly certain they didn't. After today, he was even more uncertain that bringing her here had been the safest course of action.

"I think that's a great idea," Anika agreed easily. She looked relaxed, and happy. However his day had gone, hers thankfully seemed to have been free from the tensions Ted was dealing with.

"Did today go well?" Ted asked, putting off the inevitable question about his own day.

"It did. Myrda and Snow sniffed each other through the fence again today. They are both very curious about each other, which is a good sign this early on in introductions."

"How long before you let them in the same enclosure together?"

"A few weeks. As long as it continues to go well, we will introduce them near her next fertile period, and hopefully, in three to four months after that, we will have tiger babies."

"That fast huh?" Ted grinned, eyeing her sideways as they reached the car. He opened the back door to slip Nikolai into his car seat. "Seems a little unfair." It took only a minute to get Nikolai safely secured.

Anika chuckled. "Well, there could be anywhere from two to four kits. _We_ only have to take care of one at a time, and unlike tigers, which are generally solitary even after mating, you and I can take turns."

"Are you saying I'm more desirable as a mate than a wild tiger?" Ted teased as he got into the front seat beside her.

"I'm saying you're better domesticated."

It was a pleasant drive home, as they kept up the light banter, and Anika went into further detail about the complexities of getting tigers to mate safely in captivity. When they arrived home, Ted tossed together a dinner of sausages and fresh steamed vegetables while Anika fed Nikolai and gave him a quick evening bath. They took turns holding their son as they ate, and it wasn't until after the baby was down for his first sleep of the night that the anxiety of the day began to creep back in.

Ted did his best to delay it by offering to finish up the dishes and wipe down the counters while Anika took a bath. When he finished that chore in only a few minutes he picked up the few things scattered about the living room, started a load of baby laundry, and folded the load of towels that was still sitting by the dryer in a basket. When there was no laundry left, he swept and mopped the kitchen floor, and the floor by the front door.

"Someone's energetic tonight," Anika commented as she came back out of the bathroom in a nightgown, her long hair wrapped up on top of her head in a towel. "What's wrong, Ted?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?" Ted asked as he put the broom away in the closet. "Can't I just want to help keep my own house clean?"

Anika closed the distance between them. "Please don't insult my intelligence. I know you well enough to tell when you're upset about something, or worried. Did something happen today at Headquarters?"

There was no point in hiding it. Ted reached out, pulling her into a hug, and letting himself relax into the warmth of her embrace, and the relaxing scent of lilies from her soap. "Nothing terrible," he assured her, "just worrisome. Let's go to bed, and I'll tell you."

"Bed or _bed_?" Anika asked, the questioning inflection of the second making it clear they were two entirely different things.

"For now, I just want to lie down and talk," Ted clarified. "Not that I'd be _opposed_ to the other, but you did just get all nice and clean." He wouldn't be able to focus and enjoy the intimacy until he got his mind sorted out, and just forgetting about it was not a smart idea.

"Snuggles it is then. That is the right word?" Anika asked as she gave him one more squeeze and then let go as he did.

"Yes, snuggles." Damn she could be adorable. Of course, she could also be deadly, which was one of the things he found so incredibly attractive about her.

He let go of her long enough to change into his favorite pair of sleep shorts and join her under the covers where it was warm. Slowly, he recounted for her that morning's incident, leaving nothing out. It would do no good to pretend to protect her, when it wouldn't do any such thing. Besides, she would know if he was even hedging. Her expression was a small, thoughtful frown as he told the story, but she did not look horrified, or even surprised.

"Surely you expected this." She startled him when he finished. "Amestris is safer than Drachma, but even I cannot expect all Amestrians to be as forgiving as your family. Even if my father had not been a commanding general in Drachma's invasion of Amestris, I am still Drachman. We cannot expect everyone in your country to forget what the Drachman army did to them, or over a century of border conflicts and finicky political negotiations. Especially not the soldiers, and their sons and daughters who remember what happened to their parents, their grandparents, their aunts and uncles. It has nothing to do with countries. It's personal."

"They insulted you."

"They have never met me," Anika pointed out. "Maybe they have seen me. Hurtful words but full of empty air. You reported them, and it will be dealt with. Do you think they would have hurt you?"

"I think they might have tried," Ted admitted. "I could have taken all of them if I had to, even without resorting to alchemy, though that would have been harder. If I ran into them off military property… I'm not convinced they wouldn't try it if they thought they could get away with it."

"We have faced worse than people who hate us, and not everyone does. If Mihalov and my brother and father are able to stop the Zinoveks power from spreading, or remove them from power, than there is still a chance of renewing the peace between Drachma and Amestris. Right now, no one is attacking Drachmans in Amestrian streets, and as long as we do not reach that point, I will not worry about the angry words of a few arrogant boys."

"You are incredible." Ted kissed her briefly, pulling her close. "But I'm still going to worry. What if someone _does_ attack you?"

"Do you really think I am ever entirely unarmed?" Anika smiled coyly. "I am safe at the zoo. The love of animals is a language that has made me friends there, and those of us who work with large predators are always not far from a shotgun full of tranquilizer darts… or bullets, if needed. I also usually keep at least one knife in easy reach. Only the ones that are legal on your streets, of course. Your Grandfather helped me look up the laws to make sure."

"He did?" It certainly sounded like something Grandpa Ed would do, but Ted had no idea his grandfather had done so.

"His memory is longer than most of Amestris and Drachma put together." Anika nodded. "He did not even seem surprised when I asked him if he could help me. Once he knew I already knew how to defend myself empty handed, and with a knife, he was quite willing. Especially since I cannot just wander everywhere with a rifle slung across my back and a baby on my front."

Not if she didn't want to draw the wrong sort of attention anyway. "It wouldn't be the strangest thing I've seen you do, or the craziest."

"Still, it would be unwise, and your grandfather was very helpful. It may be selfish, but I am sorry they went home. I enjoyed having your grandparents around, and your great-aunt and uncle."

"They're pretty great people. Maybe when they're not watching my back every second and I have permission to leave the city again, we can go visit Resembool." Ted had not been informed as to precisely why they had left town so quickly, but he did know that their part in the military's plans was being officially called complete. It was odd though, right on the heels of the message he had taken out to Grandpa Ed. Not having the clearance to even ask questions about a lot of what was happening was starting to drive him crazy.

"I would like that," Anika agreed. "I would like to see your home town, and the rest of your family."

"Then that's what we'll do as soon as we can," Ted promised. He had no idea if they would be any safer in Resembool, but he wanted to think it would be a welcoming place, if only because his family was liked enough that they ought to trust her on his parents' say so that she was trustworthy. If it was even necessary. Up until today, he wouldn't have even considered questioning anyone's safety in Resembool. "I just wish I had a more solid plan for while we're still here."

"Continue to follow orders and be a good soldier," Anika replied with an expression that said that should be obvious. "As long as your superiors cannot voice a complaint against you, you are protected. Give no one further reason to doubt or question you, until they begin to wonder why they did in the first place. I, and the others, have been working hard to do the same where we can; learning the customs, working on language skills, and doing our best to fit in. The more friends we have, and the fewer misunderstandings, and the longer we stay the safer we will be. People care less about the origins of someone they have learned to know and trust. Just as my family and our friends were able to accept you, despite being an Amestrian _alchemist_ of all things, I would think we can convince the people here in Central at least, that a handful of Drachman zoologists who brought their animals here to protect them are friendly and harmless."

Oh, how he wanted to believe her. The fact that Anika could so casually say she had expected hatred as a matter of fact one moment, and that she was also certain they could assimilate enough to become liked in another, left him bemused. But then, he supposed, nothing of this was as imminent a threat as what they had faced in Drachma, many times over. As long as he kept that in perspective, maybe she was right, and eventually everything would be fine.

That did not mean he was going to stop being incredibly cautious and protective of his family, however. "You're right," he said finally. "Neither of us is helpless, or going to let anything happen to Nikolai. Eventually the civil war in Drachma will end, and things will settle down again. As long as we're together, we can handle anything. Just… be careful, all right?"

"I promise, as long as you promise. You're the one with crazy ideas after all." Anika reached up, poking him playfully on the nose. "I am still not sure how you've survived this long."

"Luck." Ted grinned. "That, and never quitting when people tell me it's the smart thing to do, and I'd like to think my incredible skills have _something_ to do with it."

"Well it isn't your humility. It's probably a good thing I don't mind confident men. It just makes you like my brothers. Now… it's getting late and there is nothing more we can do about your situation. Nikolai will be up again in less than two hours. So, we have to make a critical decision, to sleep or not to sleep?"

As much as part of him very much wanted to say _not_ to sleep, the long day was catching up with him. With a rueful expression, Ted shrugged and took her outstretched hand in one of his. "Right now, sleep, while we have the luxury."

"A wise and sensible decision."

"Are you teasing me?"

Anika smiled drowsily. "Would I do that?"

"Absolutely. Love you."  
Anika closed her eyes. "Love you, too."

As he felt her relax in the circle of his arm, Ted felt himself begin to drift towards sleep. He would put up with anything, no matter the taunts, the hate, the incredibly boring drudgery of work, as long as he could fall asleep like this every night for the rest of his life.


	70. Chapter 70

**January 27** **th** **, 1991**

"If anyone ever talks to me about the glory of war again, I'm going to stuff a handful of Drachman ice down their throat."

"Can you transmute Drachman ice out of non-Drachman water?" Live Wire asked Rapid with a patient smile as she bandaged the long thin slice on his forearm to stop the bleeding.

"I could probably get the composition right with a little creative mineral tweaking," Rapid's reply was cocky, even as he winced at her gentle ministrations. Clean and bandage first, then alchemy to make sure it healed properly.

Sitting on the other side of the tent all three Amestrian alchemists were currently sharing, Felix Tringham watched the scene play out in front of him. In the eleven days since they had been sent East with the Western Drachman army and their alchemists-in-training, the fighting had only intensified. The more they pushed the Zinovek forces back towards Petrayevka, the harder the enemy fought back, redoubling their efforts, even without the advantage of planes. Felix doubted that would last. Surely Savahin had engineers repairing damaged parts factories and building new craft even as they sat here.

Which was why they were here, waiting for whatever orders they got next. Felix was grateful that their part in this must be almost over. The Western Drachman Alchemists had held up solidly in this last engagement, and even when the enemy had targeted them directly, the worst injuries had been like Rapid's; bruises and bad cuts. With Live Wire present, none of those had required stitches. Felix wished he knew when the State Alchemists would get pulled back. If they got right up in there in the fighting in Petrayevka, it was going to conflict with his understanding of how this was supposed to be Drachma taking Drachma back with support. The plan was not to march into Petrayevka with the Western Drachman army, though they were getting awfully close. If the Zinoveks withdrew any further the walls of Petrayevka would be in site across the valley. It would still be a distance away, but not much. As he understood it the city was only about fifty miles from where they now sat.

The weather had also not been particularly cooperative the past week. Snow had fallen nearly every day, and these crazy Drachmans were determined to fight in it. The last time Felix had fought Drachmans in the snow had been on Amestrian soil, and it was just as miserable an experience as he remembered. Only he was a much older man than he had been then, when he had come with his father and uncle to volunteer for the army in a time of desperate need. A war that had killed his older brother.

Felix wondered how his family was, and how much his parents were worried about him. He _knew_ his wife and children worried. The last message he had been able to send them was almost a month gone, and he was certain that the news coverage was spottier now that they had moved away from any major cities. There was a small town nearby to the north, but both armies seemed determined to avoid it. Running over civilians that might eventually belong to either side was bad policy on both ends. Felix was frankly a little surprised that Savahin hadn't had his army just tromp through the town, but maybe he was leaving those kinds of decisions up to his actual military officers.

In the corner, Live Wire had moved on to the actual healing part of Rapid's treatment, and between them there was a soft glow on the man's arm. "There," she said finally with a nod of satisfaction. "Keep that bandage on there until morning, just to be cautious and keep the area clean. It should be ready to go tomorrow."

"Thanks, Amalea." He pulled his arm away, but slowly, as he smiled.

"You're welcome." She smiled back, and remained kneeling for a moment longer before standing, and wrapping the extra bandaging back into a neat roll. "This is what I'm here for."

"Well I appreciate your skills. I've been sewn up enough times. This is much better."

Amalea's face flushed with pleasure. "Thanks, Ryan. We should probably get some dinner while we can. It's getting late."

"And it's still snowing. You can borrow my coat," Rapid offered.

"I have a coat," she reminded him. "We all have them."

If they didn't get called home, Felix thought, the flirting was going to kill him before the Drachmans did. "And the snow's just getting deeper while we sit here," he pointed out, feeling not at all guilty as they both jumped. They had forgotten he was here, apparently. Felix stood and reached for his own large military overcoat. The Drachman army had loaned them second coats to put over their wool Amestrian uniforms. It made them not only warmer, but also less likely to be enemy targets, since they just looked like every other Drachman in the camp.

The other two alchemists scrambled into their coats and thick fur hats, and Felix led the way out of the relative warm tent—thanks to some creative alchemy-heated brick heaters—into the blast of the icy night. There were paths through the fairly well-trodden snow between them and the mess tent, but they were filling quickly. Felix supposed it was too much to hope for that this entire mess could be stopped by a few feet of snow.

He moved a few feet ahead of the others, giving them a little space as they walked beside each other, not quite daring to hold hands or show any outward signs of affection. Felix didn't have the heart to tell them they weren't fooling anyone. Though it was possible that the Drachmans hadn't noticed, if only because they probably didn't care. It was also possible the two hadn't really figured it out for themselves. They were young, in a war zone, and very focused on their mission. If nothing else, Felix has not a single complaint about their professionalism or their abilities as alchemists. Though if they didn't get together after this was all over, he'd eat the fur hat on his head.

The bright warmth of the crowded mess tent washed over him as he broke free of the snow at the edge and ducked through the multi-layered flap door that kept the tent from leaking too much heat out into the night. Warmed with carefully constructed additional stoves, the military accommodations the Drachman soldiers had for dealing with their colder climate at any time of year put Amestrian winter gear to shame. Felix was taking a lot of notes.

They weren't too late, though it looked like at least some of the first shift of soldiers to eat dinner was almost done with their meals. The other alchemists were just sitting down at two tables off in a corner, and one waved in their direction letting them know they had saved them seats.

Dinner was nothing fancy, but it was definitely not the worst thing he had ever eaten. A thick, creamy, well-peppered turnip stew, with relatively fresh baked bread that they must have made in the past day that they had been camped there. Felix hadn't seen the portable camp stoves, but he wondered if they would humor him if he asked to stick his nose back behind the flaps that separated the kitchen from the dining area.

That and a large hot mug of coffee was all they were offering, but it smelled pretty good. Felix collected his plate and mug and headed towards the alchemist tables, the other two behind him. He was nearly there when he spotted a pair of someones that he had really not expected to see. "Gloria? Alexei? What are you doing here?"

Gloria grinned at him. "Getting the front-line scoop of course. You didn't think Amestrian news would let us get away with not covering a press towards Petrayevka did you?"

"Well, I suppose not," he admitted. In truth, he had given next to no thought at all about media coverage. "I thought you were still in the city."

"Only for a couple of days, though getting here once the snow hit was a trick. Good thing Alexei's good at driving in it."

Her husband and co-reporter shrugged, grinning. "I've had a lot of practice. Your comrades here have been telling us about today's engagement, which we just happened to miss."

The tone of his voice made it clear he had timed his arrival to avoid being caught in the middle of combat if possible. Probably they had seen the combat from the tops of the ridge of foothills behind them, and delayed their arrival.

"It's been a pretty intense couple of days," Felix admitted as he took a seat across from them at the very end of one of the tables. There wasn't room for Live Wire and Rapid there, but there was at the next table over. "But we seem to have them pretty well on the run after what we did to them in the mountains. At least, we did until they decided this was where they wanted to dig in and make a stand instead of retreating any further."

"Well there's no way Savahin would let them retreat into the city," Alexei nodded. "This is the best land left for making a stand before they can't stop the Western Drachman force. It's some relatively dull and uncomplicated farmland between here and the suburbs on the outskirts of the city. Not that you can see it well in a heavy snowfall."

"Anything you can tell us about tomorrow's plans?" Gloria asked hopefully.

Felix shook his head. "Not really, even if I did know. All we've been getting is marching orders as they're relevant. We've always got a few alchemists awake on a rotating watch, and these fine folks you're sitting with are getting more impressive with every passing day." He repeated the last part in Drachman, just so the other alchemists—who were pretending not to listen too closely—could understand that he was praising them. He noticed several grins as they ate. "Is that really what folks back home care about? A scant group of alchemists on the Drachman front?"

"Well, there's nothing else to report on right now," Gloria pointed out. "Sara and Mihalov wouldn't let us go with them on their little good will tour, so it's this or sit there getting information not much faster than anyone else. Don't worry, we'll stay out of the way."

"And the General knows you're here?" Felix really hoped they had permission from the commanding officers to be here.

"How do you think we found the mess?" Gloria asked with a look that said it should be obvious. "That was the first place we went."  
"All right, you know I had to ask." Felix blew on his spoonful of soup and started eating. "Is there any news from _home_?" he asked after a few bites, shifting the topic to something safer. "Anything about Whitewater maybe?" The last was hopeful of some kind of good news. If anyone would know anything about his condition it would be Gloria.

From the way her expression fell, subtle as it was as she maintained a public face, Felix was immediately sorry he had asked.

"Last I heard he's still in a coma," Gloria admitted in a quieter voice. "They don't know how long he might be unconscious, or if he'll wake up at all, but he's pretty stable now. All we can do is wait."

Felix could imagine few things worse than losing a loved one in a traumatic way, but he wondered if it was almost worse to string them along with the possibility that somehow a man might cheat death, even if the chances were slim. He wasn't a medical expert, but even he knew that not-dead-yet was hardly a hopeful diagnosis. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Gloria shook her head. "It's not anyone's fault except the pilot who dropped the explosives. None of you could have gotten anywhere near him, or you'd have been just as bad off or dead."

"Mostly I'm sorry to bring it up. I'm sure it's painful."

"Honestly, it's kind of nice to know someone besides our family is still thinking about him," Gloria admitted. "With nothing new to report there, no one's talking about him, which means the family has privacy, but it means a lot of people will just forget about it, because they're focused on the bigger picture and how what's going on here is going to affect their own lives. It's fair, but it still hurts a bit. I feel guilty that I'm here, instead of at home, but there's nothing I could do there either and I think… he would want us to be here, because it's important that everyone know the truth of what's happening."

That definitely sounded like Whitewater. "I think you're right," Felix agreed. "I also get a feeling—and it's just a hunch mind you—that Amestrians won't be involved with this conflict much longer. Will you stay even when we go?"

"If they'll let us…then yes," Gloria admitted. "If they order us out as well, then of course I won't argue."

Alexei's expression said he didn't believe Gloria would go without a fight for a second, but he wisely said nothing.

"Given how things went the last time you were in Drachma, Mihalov might keep you around because you're useful," Felix pointed out. "You have your broadcasting equipment with you?"

"The most portable of it, yes," Alexei nodded. "We can send radio broadcasts, though anything recorded with film will need to be gotten to a studio to play it, so that will be delayed. Right now, they'll take whatever we can give them."

"And pay well for it?"

Gloria shrugged. "It's what we do for a living, and war correspondence is dangerous work."

"It wasn't a complaint," Felix assured her. "Given the mess of lies and half-truths that has gotten Amestris in trouble in the past, a reliable source of news can be an invaluable tool for the truth. Let's just hope that the truth doesn't cause us even more trouble."

Alexei held up his own mug of thick, dark coffee. "I'll drink to that."

 **January 28** **th** **, 1991**

Sara never wanted to fly in a plane in snow that thick ever again. Still, it had been worth it to have Rothschild get her, Mihalov, and all of their newfound information, back to Mihalov's base office in town as quickly as they had. It was critical that they act on it immediately. In fact, they had already put some of it to work for them even before coming back, thanks to a handful of well-placed phone calls on Gavril's part to numbers not listed in any phone book.

While it took time to sit down and read through everything that they had taken from Valhov's secret offices, the files had been incredibly useful. While some of Savahin's current allies and commanders were no surprise, it was also interesting to find the notes on who Valhov's spies had been—or still were—and the people he considered impossible to turn to his cause, and therefore threats.

There had only been one or two names that Mihalov suspected of currently being involved in the resistance movement, though none of them were in _his_ circle, or Marskaya's, which meant they were running off information as it came down to the general soldier level. Given how little they were being told beyond what they were doing that day, right now any of that information would be of very little use to Savahin, particularly since the soldiers' access to communication technology was severely limited, on purpose.

More useful, were the names of potential allies that they could verify as still being alive, and somehow still involved as members of the government. Those were names they could use, as they were more likely to be biding their time and cooperating only to survive, and might be willing to at least provide information if not take part in actual plots to unseat the Zinovek regime so that they could begin the process of rebuilding peace, and restoring order that did not involve killing civilians.

The calls they had made before getting on the plane had been to three of those people. The first, Muren Svadrevna, was most certainly likely to be sympathetic, since she had been a government sponsor for the zoo, and on the committee that funded it, and other public education and conservation projects. Deemed of little importance and unlikely to cause problems, Valhov had apparently ignored her. If Savahin had any knowledge of Valhov's opinions on people, they couldn't know, but he seemed to have treated her much the same.

The phone call made to her had been very informative. Fortunately for them, Valhov's research had been thorough, including private information and contacts for everyone he bothered to keep a file on. They had caught Muren at home in the evening and she had been startled, but apparently pleased to have been thought of. Being able to update her on the news of where the escaped zoo animals had safely landed, along with some of their caretakers, had done a lot to win her over to at least listening to what they had to say. By the time they were done, she wasn't ready to sign over her life and shoot anyone to aid the resistance, but she had promised to pass on any information she might receive if they called again. All she knew at the moment was that regular committee proceedings were on hold for anything that did not directly involve the military actions against the rebelling provinces, supplying them, getting information on the enemy, and the basic needs of keeping order in the country, including trying to get supplies flowing back into the central valley from the areas which were now cut off. Savahin was out of easy targets within reach to use as hostage, or murder as useful examples, and so he seemed to have shifted focus—at least in the few meetings where he called the government together and told them what they were going to be doing—to ended the war and restoring order…his way. They did not leave her a phone number, and she did not ask for one. That way, there was continued deniability she had ever spoken with them, and even if Savahin got it in his mind to try and get information out of her, she would have nothing to give other than that she had been contacted. They could not be traced.

The second and third calls had been slightly more fruitful, as one of them turned out to be a still-good phone number for one of Mihalov's uncle's government colleagues with whom he had publicly always appeared distant—and often quarreled with on policy—but whom Gavril insisted was actually a friend of his uncle's, and they had always played it that way to keep an ear out on what all sides were saying. People would say things to Sasha Roube that they would never say to Gurina, even before he was Chairman. Once he had become chairman, Sasha had been invaluable. The fact that they had kept their quiet partnership so under the table that Valhov had missed it was a testament to years of excellent public acting.

Sara wondered if this was how Fuhrer Bradley had kept his plans so well under wraps for so long…and Roy Mustang had managed to pull off his coup. It was definitely impressive. Roube, being considered on opposite sides entirely from Gurina, still ostensibly retained his representation over the district that had appointed him. When Mihalov made that call, Roube had been enthusiastic to hear from him, and was able to supply far more detailed information about Savahin, his current favorite underlings, and where in the city they had been staying. The last he knew because while Savahin moved around different safe houses irregularly to avoid assassins like the ones who had taken out Valhov, he had invited Roube over once or twice to different ones—brought over in a private car, with tightly closed curtains—to ask him questions.

Those had ranged widely from questions of loyalty to questions of policy, to what Gurina's plans might have been for this or that project, and where the money was coming from. Some of them asked about Valhov's plans since his predecessor—while brutal—had clearly kept him on as an apparent sympathizer.

When asked how he could prove he had not gone over to the other side and would not betray them by assisting Savahin, Roube surprised them both. :I will die before I let my friend's country fall completely to ruin,: he replied, a voice full of emotion. :The distance between us was always feigned. If you want proof, talk to Marskaya. We used to meet up to talk and plan at his estate. By timing it properly, we were never seen coming or going, and certainly never together. We swore oaths together, and I have not forgotten them. _For Drachma, A Lasting Peace._ Now, I'll tell you, Savahin is getting desperate, and he has rebuilt his factories, though he put them further north of the city this time, tucked away deep in the river valley. He won't give anyone detailed information on how many he has, but I have a grand-nephew working in the factory who informs me there are at least ten that will be ready to fly soon. Given where you and Marskaya have him, if you have a plan, you'd better move on it, and you'd better get yourself away from a civilian population. If he thinks you're in a city, he'll drop bombs on the whole thing to get to you.:

They couldn't possibly risk not trusting that last piece of advice. That was why their return to his offices would be brief, and when demands came, they would be from elsewhere… and their apparent location a third place still.

Before Roube hung up, he gave them what he thought was an accurate pattern of Savahin's movements, and where he thought his safe houses were based on the cars, and information gathered from his own sources. He could make no direct promises, but it identified six different houses within Petrayevka. At least two of them, Sara knew from their own intelligence from the Amestrians still buried deep in the city, had once belonged to friends of Valhov. Friends who now appeared to be dead.

The last call had been to Marskaya himself, using the secret number that reached deep into one of his mountain bases, and not one that Valhov had in his files—they had checked. The Eastern forces were succeeding in pushing forward to the edges of the mountains there, and had the smaller Zinovek force there right in position where they wanted them. With the third portion of the man's forces engaged to the south, that put him very spread out. That made him vulnerable.

The planes were concerning, and they passed on everything they had been told. Marskaya, in return, confirmed Roube's stories of secret meetings and the quiet alliance over the years. Marskaya urged cautious trust of the information they had been given. Again, as they had left no numbers or location information, and Roube had not asked for any, so at the worst, he might have been purposefully misinformed by someone else, though it seemed unlikely after all this time, and given the plan they had in mind, even if the information were purposefully mislaid, to create a trap, there was little danger of anyone getting caught in it.

So, they would move forward.

"How much of this do we need to take?" Sara asked as she looked around Mihalov's cramped makeshift office.

"Not much," he admitted. "As long as we make it clear that nothing of importance is here, Savahin should have no reason left to bomb the place. Ideally, he will try and blow things up where he thinks I am instead, should it come to that. No, I only need a few critical things, and then we will get out of here. The information you've supplied me will be more than enough to make this work, I hope."

Sara nodded. "In the long term more than the short, probably, when it comes time for trials of war, and putting together a government that is hopefully less corrupt than the past oh…. Two or three."

"Try seven… or twelve," Mihalov suggested with a tired chuckle. "No matter what we come up with, it won't be perfect. When this is over, it might not even be _Drachma_ , but maybe that will be for the best. I've spent most of my life working my way up to a position where I could make a difference. This was never where I expected to be, but the one thing I _can_ do, is try and get this maniac out of power and try and set up a government where another one like him doesn't just step into place."

"What will you do then?" Sara asked curiously. She had heard his plans of course, at least in their theoretical phases. It all depended on how things turn out.

"Once we have enough of a truce that we're not slaughtering people in their homes? And they're not cowering in fear behind their doors? Hold an election that hopefully puts someone reasonable in power, and try and patch things up. Presuming they see fit not to try _me_ for crimes against the state, I'd like to go to Creta and see if I can salvage my marriage."

Sara smiled. She hadn't been privy to anything really about his wife's brief visit, but she counted it had gone reasonably well. "Now that, is something worth fighting for."


	71. Chapter 71

**February 1** **st** **, 1991**

Charlie could not remember the last time he had worked so hard, or felt so satisfied, on a project. He was fairly certain he would not have believed anyone who told him that someday he would be working on an engineering team that worked on aircraft. He had always loved working on machines, but this was a whole new layer of complexity, of applying fascinating physics to make vehicles not only run, but fly. Not only did it make sense, he was good at it, and his commanding officers were pleased with his work. Watching test flights gave him a thrill of satisfaction he hadn't experienced in years.

The best moment in all of it had been the first time he got to ride in one of the planes during a test run. It was required for all the engineers, so they could really get a feel for how their creations worked in the air, and what things should feel like when they were running smoothly, or what indicated problems. They had even practiced accessing areas where minor repairs might need to be done mid-air. For longer flights, they would be sent with engineers as a default part of the crew.

The rest of his life might be still a mess, but at least he had work he could honestly say he was excited about. Instead of it being a stressful unpleasant necessity, it was fulfilling.

So, it was exciting the night they were asked to stay late to make final preparations for what would be the "fleet's" first mission. Charlie had no idea where the planes were being sent, and was a little disappointed that he wasn't assigned to be an engineer on one of the planes. Still, given how new he was to the project, he couldn't even manage to dreg up major disappointment. After all, there would be other opportunities, and what was a few supply runs? The planes were filled with cargo brought in under dark of night, and loaded quietly. Whatever the mission was, Headquarters was not advertising it. Perhaps, he thought, because they wanted to make sure it was successful before saying anything. Maybe they were re-supplying the alchemists in the Western side of the valley, or possibly several resistance locations. Advertising that would just make them targets. Surely the Zinovek government would be looking at the skies, especially since Amestrian alchemists kept knocking theirs out of the sky.

He worked all night along with the others, taking one last good inspection of every part of each of the planes that were ready to go. The pilots were there with them, taking careful note of anything the engineers told them about their particular craft, and then, three hours before dawn, the crews boarded their planes, and one by one they lined up along the run way, and one by one they took off, vanishing into the darkness.

It still amazed him how quickly something so large and loud and metallic could vanish into the giant vastness of the sky.

Someday, maybe they would let him fly them, too.

When they were done, the shift lead released them to go home. Without a car of his own, Charlie hopped in one of the army vehicles that was heading back to Headquarters. There was no point in calling and waking his mother so early just to get a more direct ride home.

By the time they reached Headquarters, it was nearly dawn. Lately, there was someone at work at all hours, so while the buildings were not yet filling up for the day, windows were lit here and there.

Looking up, Charlie could see lights coming from the Presidents' office. He couldn't see if there was anything in the windowless meeting rooms beyond, but chances were Franz Heimler was there, hard at work. His sister's news reports from the Drachman front had Savahin's main forces split, and much of it pulled back to not far outside the city. He barely held most of the valley at all from a military standpoint. Reports from the southern areas had his third regiment held at a standstill, with no hope of pushing through to the Kartos border with winter setting in. Even Drachmans usually didn't fight wars in the northern winter—Amestris winter had been mild for them—but Mihalov and Marskaya were pushing them to fight. Valhov had staged his coup in mid-winter to try and avoid wide-spread warfare and to hamper anyone against him, and still here they were over a year later, trapped in the deep winter snows piling up around them.

Charlie remembered that snow. He shivered.

"Don't tell me you're cold, Fischer?" Jim Baker snorted from the seat beside him as he opened the door and got out.

"Nah. Bad memories." Charlie shrugged. "About this time last year was when I got my hand blown off." Everyone he worked with knew about the hand. There had been no reason to keep it a secret, and it meant they didn't get on his case if he still took a little longer than some to get work done. As long as it was done on time and correctly, that was what mattered.

Jim's expression went from teasing to sympathetic. "I get that." His jaw cracked as he yawned. "Damn that was a long one. You need a ride home?"

"Only if you don't mind. That'd be great," Charlie replied, both surprised but warmed by the offer. It had been a long time since he'd had any close friends, and while that wasn't the purpose of work, he had more in common with the other guys in this unit than he'd had before, or at Briggs. For one thing, a lot more of them were closer to his age.

"No problem," Jim assured him. "My wife won't be up yet, so she won't notice if I get home a few minutes later. Just let me grab something out of the office and we'll get out of here."

It was a short trip inside to get what turned out to be a small package.

"Gift for Gen," Jim admitted with a slightly bashful grin as he stuffed it in his coat pocket. "Our anniversary's tomorrow."

Charlie felt a twinge of envy at the joy in his friend's face, but he quashed it, just glad that someone he knew seemed to be having a solid, functional relationship. "Big plans?" he asked as he turned towards the door, stopping as he spotted a piece of paper lying on his desk. The desk he only ever hit once or twice a day. Cautiously he picked it up and found it to be a message, taken by one of the office secretaries with a time note of nearly nine hours before in the mid-evening, from his mother.

The message was short. _Your mother called to let you know she's been called back to the hospital, so she probably won't be home when you get back._  
"Everything okay?" Jim asked.

Charlie looked up. Apparently, he had frowned, because Jim looked worried. "Yeah, I think. My mother went back to the hospital last night, but this is hours ago." She might be home, as late as it was now, but why would they have called her back specifically? That implied some change in his father's condition. So far, none of those had been what he would call _good._ He folded the note and put it in his pocket. "Would it…be all right if you dropped me at the hospital instead?" If everything turned out to be all right, he could sit with his father until it was late enough to call home. If things weren't all right…well, he would rather be there for his mom, however late he arrived.

* * *

The steady beep of monitoring devices and the whoosh of the oxygen mask and the hum of the dim lighting in the hospital room were Alyse's constant companions, as they had been for weeks, and all through the long night. Beside her, the dregs of a cup of coffee—laden with cream and sugar—had gone cold. She had been home for less than an hour before she had received a call from the hospital—from Ren—calling her back because of a sudden fluctuation in Cal's vitals. For once, signs that he might be coming around instead of the eternal growing dread that the next time would be the last time, and he would be gone.

So, she had done just that, wolfing down her barely heated dinner and leaving the briefest call at her son's office at headquarters before darting back out the door, and doing her best not to speed on the way over. It took all her willpower not to. When she arrived, everything had stabilized again, back into a steady rhythm. Cal was still unconscious.

All night she sat vigil, again, as she had so many times. She clasped his hands in hers, trying to warm them, trying to bring some life back into him. Twice more in the night, he seemed to stir when she spoke to him, or someone came in and out of the room, which was more than he had at all since his arrival, but other than the brief stirrings, he had remained asleep. Still, it was the most reaction she had gotten so she talked, and she just kept talking, or humming, or singing little songs. She hummed every jazz song she and Cal had ever heard in concert, or lullabies she'd sung to the children, anything that came into her head that might bring him to wakefulness.

The hours stretched, and she felt her voice going hoarse. It was likely all for nothing… the first night he had made any motions towards wakefulness. It was a good sign, but it might be just that, a temporary improvement, or the first in a long slow process that might lead to wakefulness days, or even weeks or months down the road. There was no practical reason to push so hard now, except that any sign at all was more than she'd had to go on… her hope had been slowly slipping away, day by day.

The pinkish-purple hues of dawn crept through the cracks in the window shades. Another night without him had come and gone. How long could this go on? Would he _want_ it to? That last question had niggled in her mind more than once. They had never discussed what would happen if a situation ever arose where he was being kept alive almost entirely by machines, and prodigious and careful doses of alchemical healing. If not for those interventions, he would have died weeks ago, or a dozen times since then.

If he never woke up, when was the right time to give up and let him go? It was a question she didn't want to ask, but lately it had crept in more often. It might happen, and the one thing she did know was that Cal wouldn't want his family spending years waiting and wondering and not moving on with their lives.

The door creaked open. "Mom?"

Alyse looked up at Charlie, standing in the doorway looking tired and concerned. "Did you just get off work?" she asked, startled. She knew he had been told they would be working late, but she would have thought he might have been home by now.

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. You know how it goes sometimes," he replied vaguely. In his hands were two cups of what she guessed was probably coffee. "I thought you might need a pick me up," he commented as he came closer, and joined her at the bedside. "I didn't get your message until just a bit ago. What happened?"

How much to tell him… then Alyse shook herself mentally. Everything. Her children should know everything. "The hospital called and told me that he was showing signs of stirring. I hoped… well, as you can see, he hasn't really changed much. But, he stirred just a little, once or twice." She took the fresh hot coffee she offered him—also laden with sugar and cream—and sipped it carefully.

Charlie looked relieved. "I was afraid he was gone," he admitted, looking down at his father with a tired, pained expression. "That it was all over, and I might not be here to say goodbye. Stupid maybe, since he can't hear me, I don't think. But still…"

"He's still here," Alyse replied. "Thank you for the coffee. It's exactly how I like it."

"I do remember some things." Charlie gave her a small, tired smile. "Too bad we can't pump coffee through an IV. I bet that would wake Dad up fast."

"I don't recommend it," Ethan commented as he walked through the door, looking far fresher than either of them. He hadn't been on duty last night. Alyse was glad that someone had slept. "Doctor Monroe didn't report any major changes in the night, except some fluctuations in vitals. Any luck getting him to respond to your presence at all?" he asked Alyse, sounding slightly hopeful.

Alyse hated to disappoint him too. She shook her head. "I've tried everything within the bounds of decency to wake him up, and as I'm not about to try anything in the realm of _indecency_ to wake him up, I don't know what else to try." She almost chuckled at the slightly scandalized look that flashed across her son's face. The truth was, if she thought stripping naked and making out with Cal's unconscious body would actually wake him up, she would probably have done it, so long as they locked the door and let them have their privacy.

"Since I can't prescribe sex, alcohol, and large doses of caffeine as reasonable methods to bring someone out of a coma, we won't be trying those," Ethan agreed as casually as if she had made some other, far more reasonable but unlikely suggestion. From the glint in his eyes, she got the feeling he had also noticed Charlie's response. Having just a little fun with him seemed to lighten the mood of the room. "Though I admit, given who we're talking about, the ideas aren't entirely without merit."

"Can you imagine Dad's face if he woke up while you were doing that though?" Charlie finally bought in on it.

Alyse couldn't help it. The very idea made her laugh. It was giggling brought on by being tired, and worn, and run thin, but it felt good to laugh. She couldn't remember the last time she had done it. And soon the three of them were laughing, and it was a release she had so desperately needed.

"Wha-!" the gasp of another voice startled her, and Alyse stared around before looking down at Cal, and her heart nearly stopped. The beeping of the heart monitor had increased, and his eyes, while not fully open, were no longer completely closed. Beneath them, his eyes moved. They opened, and closed again, then he gasped once more.

The room had flown into a flurry of motion as Ethan moved to look at the displays, Charlie almost dropped his coffee, and Alyse grabbed her husband's hands, her heart in her throat. Oh, gods… "Calvin! Cal, honey, are you listening to me?" she gasped out, rubbing his hands. Was she hallucinating or did they feel warmer? "Can you hear me? It's Alyse."

Charlie set his cup down, and sat beside her. "Dad? It's me…Charlie. I'm home. Can you hear me?"

Eyes fluttered again, Cal gasped again, and his tongue moved awkwardly as if he was trying to lick his mouth. Alyse could only imagine how dry it must be. "Ethan, what's going on?" she barked at her cousin.

"His vitals are changing," he replied. A response Alyse found entirely unhelpful, but maybe that was all he could give her either.

"How?" she asked more specifically, her eyes riveted on Cal's face. She leaned a little closer, wishing she'd worn one of her perfumes. Would stimulating his other senses have helped? "Please, stay with me, Cal. Wake up… we're right here. You're here…"

"His heartrate is steady at a good resting rate. We're up to seventy-five beats per minute, and his core temperature is a little higher, holding just under 98.4. His breathing is stronger." Ethan sounded slightly excited with each detail, and Alyse couldn't focus on any more of the specific numbers, even as Ethan started recording data and then turned to examine his patient more directly.

"This can't do any more harm than good," Ethan commented as he placed his gloved hand on Cal's chest, and Alyse could feel the gentle tingling presence of alchemical energy flowing in the room, flowing lightly through Cal.

Who reacted almost as if he had been shocked. With another shout, Cal twitched, and his eyes came wide open. "What!" he gasped the word again, more clearly. "Wha… I…" and no further words came out as he blinked and his eyes began to focus. He was confused, and scared. Alyse could read it in his face. "Ethan! Ethan help him."

Her cousin nodded, and removed his hand. "Easy there, Cal. Let me get this mask off." Ethan reached up and removed the oxygen mask, which had been down to a nearly normal concentration for several days as his lungs had healed after the last of the pneumonia was gone, and they stopped collecting water. There was damage there that might never be fully healed, but he could breathe.

As soon as the mask was off, Cal seemed to calm down, even though he was still having trouble focusing. He swallowed. "Wa—water…" he finally managed.

"Here, right here." Alyse reached for the small cup that sat at his bedside, scrambling so quickly she almost knocked over her old coffee. She held it up ever so carefully to Cal's lips, and just barely touched it to his mouth, controlling it as it dripped every so slowly, wetting his mouth without choking him as he swallowed, possibly for the first time in days. "Easy Cal, that's it. Slowly," she made her voice sound calmer, as she tried not to frighten him. She couldn't tell what frame of mind he was in, or even how much he understood at the moment, but he was awake, and that was more than she had dared to ask. "Is that better?" It was only a couple of ounces, and some of it dripped down his chin, but he nodded.

Her eyes were already wet with relief.

Ethan looked stunned, but pleased. "Don't push too hard. Give him some time to orient himself. He's been through a lot and might not have any idea of how much time has passed."

Alyse was about to say she knew that, when Cal's eyes looked past her to focus on Ethan at his words, and the confusion started to fade, and some of the panic eased out of him. Muscles that had tensed relaxed.

Cal took a couple of slower, steadier, deeper breaths. "Where am I?" he asked clearly, though his voice was broken and cracked; little more than a whisper.

Alyse's heart fluttered. "You're home," she answered him, "In Central."  
A moment's confusion again. "Central? How?"

"By plane," she explained, keeping her voice calm, though it waivered a little. "The other alchemists rescued you, and kept you alive, and brought you home." So, he hadn't been able to hear them before after all. Alyse knew that some coma patients were aware of time passing around them, and things people said. Cal had not been one of them, if his reactions were any indication.

Some of it must be sinking in, at least she hoped it was. For all she knew Cal thought he was still dreaming, or dead.

"I… fell," he said finally. "I drowned…"

"You did fall," Ethan cut in with a nod. "You were very badly hurt, and you almost drowned, but you didn't. When you were unconscious the Drachmans pulled you out of the river, and then the other alchemists rescued you. You've been in a coma."

Cal stared at them for several seconds, without much emotion playing across his face, though Alyse was sure she could read some of it in the subtle set of his expressions. "Water."

Alyse held the cup up again, and had read the request right as Cal wet his mouth again, and this time took a couple of sips. "Better?"

He nodded. "I'm… alive."

"You are," Ethan nodded. "We've done everything we can to keep you that way. You're stable now, and you've been healing while you were asleep."

"I feel…" Cal paused, as if he wasn't quite sure how to explain what he was feeling. Alyse could think of a couple dozen possibilities. Tired. Sore. Hungry. Confused. Uncomfortable…. or there were the things he probably couldn't feel. But he didn't seem to have noticed that. Not yet. "Ugh," he finally finished unceremoniously. "How long?"

"Have you been out?" Ethan clarified. "It's been about a month and a half since the battle. Today is the first day of February."

Alyse watched Cal's eyes widen, and for a moment she thought he might panic. Then, to her relief, he nodded slightly. "Long nap."

Charlie chuckled, and Cal's eyes left Ethan long enough to look over at his son. He squinted at him hard for several seconds before he recognized him. Then his mouth fell slightly open. "Charlie?"

Her son smiled, looking suddenly self-conscious. "Hey, Dad. Yeah, I'm home. It's a long story. I'll tell it to you again sometime. You kind of slept through the first telling."

Cal snorted. Finally, his eyes rested on Alyse, meeting hers as he looked into her face with a surprising intensity. Then his ears were brimming with tears, and his hands tightened hard on hers. "'Lyse…"

"Yes." She sniffled, smiling at him. She would always smile for him. "I'm here. Of course, I'm here. You think I'd be anywhere else besides sitting at your bedside waiting for you to wake up? It's like we're dating all over again."

"Stay." That was all he said, but he didn't really need to say more.

"I always will," she promised, and leaned over gently to hug him. His arms tried to reach up, but in his weakened state they didn't get far. She met him the difference, and wrapped her arms gently around him. She kissed his forehead, and his cheek. "I love you."

His arms managed to close around her a little more with something to rest on. "Love you." Then he relaxed, and in moments, his eyes had closed.

Alyse's heart raced. "Ethan! Ethan… what's going on?"

"Calm down." Ethan reached in, checking Cal's pulse as Alyse leaned back, and Cal's hands slid away. "He's just asleep. _Normal_ sleep."

"Already?" Charlie asked.

"It's a lot to process," Ethan explained simply. "And he hasn't exactly been comfortably napping. This is to be expected. It may be days before he can stay awake long enough to hold any kind of complex conversation. Still, it's proof of definite improvement."

Alyse nodded, her heart slowly stopped racing. Cal was not only medical alive, he had awoken. He had spoken to her. He had recognized her, and Charlie, and been able to ask questions. He wasn't a vegetable. "It's incredible."  
"While he's resting, you should rest too," Ethan suggested. "This is a good start, but it's only a start. We'll still need to monitor him closely, and start working him back up to eating and drinking on his own. He'll recover much faster than if we keep feeding him nutrients through an IV."

"Food is definitely more appetizing," Charlie commented. "What should I do?"

"You can sit with him for a while so your mom actually sleeps," Ethan suggested, giving Alyse a knowing look. "If you want to confirm he's just asleep and not slipping back into a coma without waking him, just squeeze his hand a little, or poke him somewhere. If he reacts like a normal sleeping person, he's sleeping. That said, don't panic if he slips back into a coma. It could happen, though it probably won't last as long as if it happens again. I just, don't want you to think this is it. There's still a long way to go."

Alyse was well aware of that, but she didn't say it. She knew that Ethan was trying to balance all of their hopes with the reality of the situation. Once Cal could remain conscious long enough to discuss his medical situation, they were all going to have to face some tough realities, and hope that Cal took the news well.

She did not expect him to like any part of it.

* * *

If anyone had ever suggested to her that the life of an international war correspondent was glamorous and high profile, Gloria Fischer Deviatovski would have laughed in their face. The tiny tent she and Alexei had graciously been extended by the Drachman military, which was right next to the one that hosted the Western Drachman reporter that had come with them from the television station, was barely long enough for the two cots they had pulled together to sleep on. Their bags sat on the floor, tucked under the cots most of the time, and then there was just enough room for a small gas-powered heater that kept it from getting too frigid.

Without a desk, or even a chair, Gloria did most of her work sitting on the cots, or finding a corner in the mess tent, where there was enough table space to lay out her notes as long as it wasn't a meal time. Thanks to the incredibly heavy snowstorm that had rolled in, there hadn't been any more fighting since her arrival, as both armies waited for mobility and, so she had heard whispered, possibly big news for Western Drachma. It was rumored, and nothing more, but the men seemed to find it interesting that they weren't fighting, even in three feet of snow.

"Drachman soldiers will fight in anything," Alexei had shrugged when she commented on it the night before. "It's one of the best ways to keep warm. It's why they have so many winter sports. That, and because there's so much snow and ice we couldn't get anywhere otherwise. It gets boring up here."

"I have yet to ever be bored in Drachma in the winter," Gloria had teased him. Someday, when things were peaceful again, she would like to come spend more time with his family. If only they had any idea how long from now that might be.

Gloria finished the last line of her next report and set it down, reaching for the cup of coffee beside her. It was almost time for the first lunch shift, so she should pack up and get out of the way before the soldiers came in.

"Gloria, there you are!"

She turned around to see Amalea Finn waving in her direction from the entrance, moving toward her quickly.

"What's going on?" Gloria asked curiously. She began to gather her papers more quickly.

"Twilight's back!" Amalea sounded eager but also harried as she joined her. "She wants every Amestrian here to meet back in the Alchemists' tent now. It's important."

When she did not elaborate, Gloria didn't ask any more probing questions. It was probably not meant for public ears…or Drachman ears. Though the fact that Sara Heimler wanted all _Amestrians_ probably meant something big was going to happen. She finished putting her work in her bag, and followed Amalea back out into the snow.

They walked briskly through the recently re-plowed walkways, reaching the tent after only a few minutes. Not too far off, Gloria was startled to see the Amestrian aircraft parked. "How did they land that thing in all of this?" she asked curiously as they ducked inside.

"Lieutenant Rothschild deserves a promotion and a commendation for insanity as well as flying skills," Sara commented in response.

The small tent, meant to sleep three, was crammed tight with the three alchemists assigned to it, Sara Heimler, and now Gloria and Alexei. "What did you want us for?" she asked her next question without preamble.

"It's time for us to leave," Sara replied directly.

"What do you mean?" Gloria asked, startled at the abrupt declaration. "We're days from what could be a major confrontation, and you want to pull out now?"

"Those are our orders from Central," Sara replied, scowling. "The alchemists are leaving. We have done precisely what we were authorized to do, which was help Western Drachma solidify its claim to the border, and provide basic training for their alchemists. Tringham assures me they can handle whatever comes next on their own, and Amestris cannot be seen to have any interest in making a move ourselves on Petrayevka. Mihalov will be addressing Savahin this evening. _We_ need to be gone."

"With all due respect, Alexei and I are not alchemists," Gloria pointed out. If they left now, possibly the most important moments of this story would slip through their fingers… no one back home would have immediate knowledge of the situation. Oh, the ones who could speak Drachman would be able to follow whatever news came their way, but the rest would be relying on interpreted information. "We're reporters here, independently, on assignment."

"You are Amestrian citizens, and as of now, all Amestrians are to be removed from Drachma, especially the ones who have been so publicly visible. In a few hours, you will have nothing resembling political immunity. You are coming, if I have to tie you up and drag you both on the plane myself." Her expression almost dared Gloria to try and fight.

To one side she saw Alexei giving her his _this is a bad idea_ face, and realized he meant trying to argue with the General and State Alchemist. This was not a family squabble.

Maybe she could get the other reporter to make sure to send her updates. Gloria sighed. "All right, when do we leave?"

"In an hour. Rothschild is overseeing a refuel right now. As soon as its ready to fly, we'll be in the air."

It was all so sudden, and her mind burned with a dozen questions. Why now? What was going to happen? Was this part of the original plan? None of the others were giving her any clues as to whether these were in any way expected orders even though they hadn't mentioned anything about it before. Tringham's face was impassive. "We'll be ready," she promised. "Is there anything else we need to know?"

"That's it. You and Alexei can go pack. Meet us directly at the plane."

"Understood." Gloria followed Alexei out the door, and waited until they were some distance away before she growled audibly. "I can't believe this."

"Not here," Alexei suggested in a quieter tone. "It's sudden, but there's not much we can do about it now."

"I didn't even hear you object in there," she pointed out in frustration.

"Because I think if they know something we don't, it's in our best interest to do as we're told," Alexei replied. "I wanted to see this through as well, but from her tone, I don't think choosing to disobey would be in our best interest either."

It was logical and reasonable of course, but she still hated losing out on the rest of the story. Still, if something happened and they died, they would lose out on more than that. "Do you have much to pack?" she asked as they walked together towards the tent. His body blocked a good amount of the wind, and she huddled close for warmth.

"Almost nothing," Alexei admitted. "I've had everything ready to go at a moment's notice, especially my camera, in case something dramatic happened we wanted to document."

"Well, we'll have to make due with what we have I guess. Though it will be nice to get somewhere warm again. I never really thought of winters Amestris as _warm_ before now."

Alexei bent down briefly and kissed her cheek. "Anywhere I can be with you is warm enough for me."

Gloria tilted her head up to catch his lips with hers. "Still, it might be nice to just be home for a while. They better give us a raise for all this material."

Alexei chuckled. "I'm sure we can negotiate something."

Even the ability to walk from the bathroom to her bed without a coat would be nice. Gloria started walking again. It was time to get out of here.

* * *

This was it. Everything was coming up upon a moment of truth. Gavril Mihalov could not have said exactly which moment that would end up being, but the events to come would be remembered in history as either his finest, or perhaps his most foolish. If he died, it would certainly be the latter.

Every precaution had been taken that could be to avoid that particular scenario. Tonight's proclamation had been quietly pre-recorded, in studio, with a set designed to look almost precisely like the background they had used months ago in his uncle's mansion in Karmatsk. While no one would believe that he had somehow snuck back into the city—or into the house still overrun with Zinovek troops, which were still besieged by a portion of Marskaya's forces—they would not be able to identify where he was specifically based on anything on screen. The lighting had carefully been set to make it look like the time of day it would air this evening.

More importantly, it would not be easily traceable. The video, and the radio, which would broadcast precisely the same time to coincide, would be sent out from multiple locations at once. It had been prepared on very short notice, and no one had been permitted to watch them ahead of time. Mihalov was trusting those men and women to make sure this worked.

 _He_ was not physically in any of the locations they had delivered recorded material to either. Sara Heimler and her pilot had dropped him, and guards and a very small entourage, including Niki Marskaya, at an undisclosed location, before they had flown off to remove the remaining Amestrians from combat, as promised. Gavril needed to show that his alliance with the other countries was not a play on their part for power in Drachma, and that they would honor deals. Having no Amestrians near the front lines not only protected them, but helped prove that the deal could be trusted. It also showed his confidence in Western Drachma's growing strength, and in Drachman people as a whole. He and General Marskaya _could_ have chosen to simply divide Drachma and rule their own sections separately as new leaders, but that had never been their rhetoric, and they intended to stand by it. While it was possible Drachma would not be whole when this was complete, it was their hope that it would, at least, not be ripping itself apart inside, and in the hands of someone who cared more about the people; someone who cared that Drachma was a good place for its children to grow up in safety and prosperity and would make it that way.

Now he sat quietly in windowless room, with a television and his guards, to see his recording pushed out over the evening broadcasts. From here, he would safely see his message delivered, and await a response from Savahin, in whatever form it came. Not that he expected Savahin to actually concede to anything, or call back his men, but the public statement and offer to negotiate had to be made.

He wondered if Darya would hear it in Creta, and what she would think. What would Amylla think? He had managed to call his daughter roughly once a week since Darya left as he had promised, and it filled him with warmth and determination to hear his daughter's voice, and to know that while she was worried about him, she was doing well in Creta. She was making friends, and learning the language. Even far away she was keeping up with her studies. After he spoke with her, he would talk to Darya. He knew she was worried, but she did not ask when he would be done with this, or even if, she just talked to him about forwarding the alliance with Creta through quiet conversations with various important people who came to visit the Argyros home. She was doing her own small part. She missed him.

:It's starting, Sir.:

Mihalov shook himself, turning his attention back to the moment, and to the screen in front of him as the news channel coming out of Western Drachma that they had chosen for the evening began. The broadcast team started with the usual nightly introductions, and then went straight to the main headline subject of the evening, the ongoing conflict between Western Drachma, and the Zinovek government, and the resistance in the Eastern Provinces. He waited, until the dark-haired news anchor looked straight at the camera and began what they had rehearsed, and what the others had been told to prepare for.  
:Tonight, Provisional Western Drachman President Gavril Mihalov has a personal message, and a new ultimatum, for Savahin and the Zinovek regime.:

The camera cut to Gavril's face, and he appreciated how well they made it look and sound as if he was actually in the studio with them, or shooting from somewhere nearby. Only once Savahin realized it was coming from multiple stations would he come to understand that his adversary was likely not in _any_ of those locations.

:Good evening to the people of Western Drachma, to the people of all of Drachma, and to Genn Savahin, and the serving members of the puppet Drachman government. I wish to keep tonight's comments short and to the point. You have lost, Genn. Your southern forces have been stalled; your northern defeated. Your regiments to the West and East have been pushed back nearly to your doorstep. You are surrounded, and entirely by Drachmans. There are no foreign soldiers within hundreds of miles of Petrayevka. No, not even the alchemists are foreign. They are loyal Drachmans, eager to serve for a better Drachma. You have lost all of the industry of the West. You have lost the East. You have no hope of creating a commercial trade route to the Western oceans. It is not possible to continue to fund this war indefinitely, and you are draining Drachma of its resources and people for a future that no one wants, and to which many have already fallen.

:It's not too late. Surrender. Step down and put yourself and your associates in custody. Call off your attacks and meet with me to discuss terms of surrender. There is one thing we do agree on, things in Drachma cannot go on as they are. We _need_ a truly representational government, with a fairer system of checks and balances, that better works to establish and abide by the will of its peoples, for there are many. Surrender, and no one else needs to die. End this madness that Valhov spearheaded, not with more bloodshed, but by preserving the lives of those who remain. I will give you twenty-four hours to make a decision before taking any further action. I will await your public declaration.

:To the rest of the Drachman people, I say this. It is not my intent to take control for myself, or for anyone else. Neither is it that of General Marskaya. Our intend remains as it has been, to reunite Drachman in common peace, even should that means it must become more fragmented, to once again become whole. All of the old Provinces will have the opportunity to choose what they wish to do with themselves. To go, or to stay, and be part of a new government. Within six months of peace we will have those decisions, and elections for new representatives. Within two years, and not a day longer, there will be an open election, not a government appointment, of new leadership, in whichever form the new government decides as best. This I promise you, as I have promised you since the remaining government continued to attempt to protect our people in exile. Most of them are gone. Let us not make their sacrifices be meaningless.

Twenty-four hours, Genn. We're waiting.:

The news cut back to the anchor, and Gavril exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath almost through his own speech. She thanked him as if he had been cutting in live, and they moved on.

:Well done, Sir,: Trit Vrikon, one of his aids, smiled nervously. :Are you sure calling out the madman is wise?:

Gavril shook his head. :Dealing with a madman is never wise. Sometimes, however, it is the only option.:

Now to wait, and see.


	72. Chapter 72

**Still February 1** **st** **, 1991**

The second time Calvin awoke was far less jarring. Dreams he scarcely remembered had flitted through his mind as he slept, and he awoke with the awareness that time had passed, unlike before.

Waking to the sterile, bleached world of a hospital bed, hundreds of miles from the location that he had been in seeming moments before, and sure he was dying, had been confusing, disorienting.

Now he came back to consciousness, rising out of sleep into awareness that assured him he had not dreamed it, nor was he dead. He had come out of enough situations where he thought he had died to recognize that he had somehow, once again, survived.

The antiseptic smell of cool hospital air filled his nostrils. The crisp sheets and firm mattress held his body. Cal knew they could not be a comfortable bed. Hospital beds were not comfortable, but in comparison to the jagged, painful hurtling between boulders and a vague sense of being dragged past rocks and cold that his body vaguely remembered, it felt like a deep, luxurious cushion.

Not that it made him feel comfortable. As usual, it was all of the little aches, pains, and twinges of being human that convinced him he was really alive, and awake. Slowly, he took stock of his body. There was no mask on his face. He had a vague memory of a mask over his face before; oxygen probably. His arm was bandaged, in a way that felt like it held down an IV. His neck felt stiff, his arms heavy, and his stomach snarled like a half-starved street dog. It felt like it was trying to eat through him as well. Breathing felt odd, but it did not have the painful spasms he remembered; the icy shards that had seemed to stab through him, the gasping for oxygen as his lungs filled—

—That was enough of that. Lots of minor discomforts, but oddly enough, no major pain. He wasn't even sure he could feel everything, but then, they probably had him on several very potent drugs right now.

His stomach growled again, and Cal opened his eyes, hoping there might be someone in the room who could get him something to eat. How long had it been since he had eaten?

Immediately someone stirred, and there was Alyse. His throat tightened. She looked beautiful, but also worried and exhausted. Her normally perfectly coiffed hair was pulled up in a twist, but tendrils had come out, and her sweater was rumpled. "You're awake," she smiled at him, gently squeezing his hand. "Do you remember where you are?"

It was blurry, like his dreams, but Cal remembered waking up in a panic, unable to talk, or think clearly. It was vague, but clearer than his sense of falling, and nearly drowning. "I'm home," he managed to say. His mouth was dry, and disgusting, but not as bad as it could be. He tried to remember what they had told him before. "It's been a while."

"Weeks," she agreed, and her eyes filled with tears even as she smiled. "Do you remember our conversation earlier at all?"

"Was that… today?" Cal asked, trying to gauge how long he had been asleep.

"This morning. It's almost dinner time now." Alyse nodded. "You sound hungry."

"Starving," he confirmed with a subtle nod of his head. It was about all he could manage in his prone position. "and thirsty."

"I'll make sure to order you some food. The doctors would like you to start eating and drinking again as soon as possible." As she spoke, she adjusted the bed slightly so he was sitting up just a little more, and then reached for a cup of water on the bedside table.

Cal would have happily eaten half of a cow, but he had a feeling that his first hospital meal would consist of the standard bland nutritious mush foods. For now, he settled for allowing her to hold the glass as he sipped, somewhat messily. He downed the whole thing, but his mouth no longer felt like grody cotton. "Thanks."

Alyse kissed his forehead. "You're welcome. Do you want more?"

"In a bit." His brain was slowly starting to move at more than a rusty junker's pace "I'm trying to make sure I've got things straight."

"I'll answer anything you want to know," she promised.

"What happened to me?" he blurted out artlessly. "I mean, I remember battle, and then fire—then ice and pain and drowning, and then more cold. Darkness. Then—I was here. Has it really… been a month?" Breathing took more effort than he realized. His lungs were already beginning to ache. _I almost drowned. They're probably crap._

"A month and a half," Alyse clarified. "As soon as the battle was over, Sara sent all the alchemists out on a search mission. They found evidence that you might have been dragged out of the river alive. They found part of your uniform, and footprints leading back to the Drachman—well the other Drachmans'—camp. So, they sent in a rescue mission, right into the camp, and pulled you out. You were almost dead when they found you. Amalea Finn kept you alive, and Sara and the others buried the camp in a blizzard while they carried you all the way back to the hospital."

Even in short form, it was quite a tale. Cal tried to imagine Sara and Trisha—he was sure it would have taken both of them—whipping up a storm of that magnitude. "Wow. I'll have to… ask them about it… later."

"Shhh. Talk less," Alyse scolded gently. "I'll tell you the rest, though it's not nearly as dramatic. Amalea and the other alchemist doctor kept you alive, and he healed your open wounds, and as soon as they could, they put you on a plane and flew you back here. You've been unconscious and unresponsive, until this morning when you woke up. Though you almost flatlined on me several times." The last she said with a look of reproach. He realized belatedly that she wasn't really mad at him.

"Sorry."

"Don't ever do it again." She shook her head, then smiled. It was a wan, tired expression. Cal wondered how much sleep she had gotten recently, and knew it could not have been enough.

"I'll…do my best," he promised. "More water?" His mouth still felt dry, cracked, even though he knew that if he had been out that long, he had been getting all of his hydration and nutrition through the IV into him.

Alyse poured more from a pitcher, and helped him drink down another. Once he had drained it, Cal wondered about how he would have to go to the bathroom soon if he kept drinking like this. Of course, they had to have had a way to deal with that while he was unconscious. _A catheter…_ that would make sense. Whoever had put it in must be good, because he couldn't really feel much of anything.

"I'll be right back," Alyse promised as she stood. "I'm just going to the door to get a nurse so we can get you some dinner."

In the slightly elevated position, if he turned his head a little Cal could see the entrance to the room. "I think I'll be okay," he promised, his mouth slowly forming a stiff smile. He watched Alyse stand, and move to the door, opening it and calling down the hallway. Whatever she said, he didn't much notice as she spoke quietly with a nurse who appeared almost at once. It was enough to watch Alyse, to see her alive, and to know that, somehow, he had once again cheated death.  
Alyse turned around, smiling. "Dinner will be up in a few minutes, and so will Ethan."

"Why do I always get the tough doctor?"

"Because he's on duty right now?" Alyse sat back down beside him. "You've had ten different physicians working to keep you alive, Calvin, and that's just the Amestrians."

Ten… wow. How much was wrong with him? That implied several specialists at the very least. "At least I have the cutest nurse," he cracked another smile. The second one came a little easier.

"You have no idea how good it is to hear you flirt," Alyse admitted, "even if you're rusty."

"I did get pretty soaked." The word rust jogged his memory. "How's my automail? I can't feel it. Pain meds must be pretty amazing stuff."

Alyse looked briefly pained. "It's not attached right now. The one you were wearing was ripped apart badly in the river, so they removed it. There was no reason to replace it… while you were in a coma, I mean."

Was it his imagination, or had she hesitated? "That makes sense. Have they started work on a new one?"

"It… isn't ready yet." That time she had definitely hesitated. "But there's plenty of time."

"How long are they going to keep me here before we can go home?" The way he felt, he doubted they were going to discharge him immediately, but he could be an invalid in a bed just about anywhere, and he would much rather do it in his own home.

"That remains to be seen." Ethan's voice came from the doorway.

Alyse looked…relieved? "Your timing is impeccable."  
"I do try." Ethan crossed the room. "You seem a bit more coherent this evening."

"I feel more coherent this evening." Cal watched his wife's cousin carefully. "I was just asking Alyse how long before you spring me?"

"I heard." Ethan looked at the readings on the machinery. Cal couldn't see the screens, but he didn't think there had been that many possible readings the last time he'd been hospitalized for wounds sustained in combat. "It's going to depend on several factors."

"It can't be too bad," Cal quipped. "I feel pretty good for someone the Drachmans tried to over-cook, then dunk."

"The fact that you can say that is due in no small part to the amount of healing you've already done," Ethan replied, his expression turning more serious. "Frankly, in the condition you arrived here, I'm still not sure how you weren't dead before Sara's team rescued you, or how you made it back to the city, even with an alkahestrist."

Alyse hadn't been exaggerating. Ethan was not prone to hyperbole. Cal winced. "What have you healed so far?" From Ethan's tone, that in itself was probably an impressive list.

"Besides head-to-toe bruises, cracked ribs, some bruised organs, a concussion, internal bleeding, broken bones, and double-pneumonia… as much of the damage done to your organs by your near-drowning experience as we could." Ethan sighed. "There's some permanent damage to your lungs. With breathing exercises I'm sure we can get your capacity and strength up."

Cal tried for a cocky grin. He had no idea if he succeeded. "Well, it's not like I plan on …taking up deep-sea diving or marathon… running as a hobby."

Neither of them smiled at the joke.

Alyse looked distinctly uncomfortable. There was something they hadn't told him yet. He could feel it. Like after Aerugo, when the doctor had told him his leg was gone. Of course, he'd been on enough pain-deadening drugs the first few days that he hadn't even been able to feel that his leg existed, let alone that part of it was missing, after those first agonizing hours. Those had worn off eventually, of course. They were too potent to stay on for very long. But he hadn't been able to feel much of anything for a while…

… like he couldn't feel everything now. Had he lost something else? The thought came to him, and he almost panicked before making himself take quick stock of his limbs. He could see his arms. His fingers twitched and closed on Alyse's hands, and he could turn his head. He tried to look down at his lower half. Vaguely, he could see that the sheet fell away where his leg was missing, but he knew the auto-mail wasn't there. The rest of his other leg seemed to be there. He could see it. He could… "Why can't I feel my legs?" He blurted the words out as soon as they came to his mind. He tried to move them, consciously, but he felt nothing and he couldn't see any movement at all. A slow, sinking horror began to fill him.

Alyse's eyes filled with tears, and they ran freely.

Ethan looked resigned. "Your spine was badly damaged in the river. We've mended the bones as best we can, but there's still damage to your spinal cord. We're going to have to go in for surgery to correct it if we can. If not, there's concern about more permanent damage."

Cal tried to follow. "So, you're going to fix it."

"We're going to try. Right now, you're paralyzed from the mid-waist down."

Paralyzed. His stomach knotted, and he felt ill. "But it's…temporary, right?"

"We don't know." Ethan's gaze was steady, firm, but also sympathetic. "You've been too weak to do anything more than we have. Opening you up would have killed you. Right now, it will still be weeks before we can even consider doing surgery, which will require a surgeon and an alkahestrist, to guarantee we can even keep it from getting worse."

"How could it possibly get worse?"  
"Your spinal cord could snap."

Cal really preferred it when he knew a doctor was exaggerating to make a point. "You have a terrible bedside manner, Elric."

"Calvin!"

"It's fine, Alyse." Ethan sighed. "Presuming the surgery goes as expected, there's no way to guarantee whether or not you'll remain paralyzed. Some paralysis is temporary. Which means that your brain could, over time, reconnect the signals with the nerves in your legs. It also might not. In either case, you'll have several months of physical therapy coming to regain your strength and maximum use of your remaining mobility, and improved organ function."

Improved, which implied that at least one, probably more, were not working at full capacity. Cal had a feeling that meant more than just his lungs. "Anything likely to _fail_ on me… now that I'm awake?" he asked. He didn't want to think about his legs anymore.

"Not likely," Ethan replied sounding more certain. "As I said, we managed to do some healing while you were unconscious, despite the risks. Everything is functioning, but not necessarily at full capacity. Besides your lungs, nearly drowning put a strain on several systems. Your heart and kidneys are still a concern, but they aren't likely to fail outright. You'll forgive my amazement that your liver is still in decent shape." The last was laden with sarcasm.

"Thank my wife." Well, that was at least one thing to not fret too much about. Cal was too tired to really fret about anything anyway. Worrying…thinking… it was tiring him out fast. Though the news made him really wish he could have a good stiff drink; something the two people in the room were incredibly unlikely to ever give him. Especially not here.

The awkward silence that fell was broken almost at once by the arrival of a hospital employee with his dinner tray. Relieved, Cal focused on eating possibly the blandest and most disgusting meal of his life, which consisted of hot chicken broth, some kind of carrot pudding mash thing, and a banana. "How long before I can have solids?" he grumbled as he sat there, begrudgingly allowing Alyse to help spoon feed him, if only because he felt so weak, he wasn't sure he could do it without making even more of a mess. A month-and-a-half of complete inactivity had left him with less muscle than he could ever remember having in his life, at least since he was a boy. His arms looked soft, and almost frail, like an old man. If that was his arms, he wasn't sure he wanted to look in a mirror.

"Once we're sure your digestive tract is functioning properly," Ethan assured him. "Give it a couple of days. If everything looks good in the morning I'll see if they'll put something more filling on the menu for breakfast."

"Like sausage and potatoes?" Cal asked with false hope.

"Oatmeal or toast," Ethan countered. "Which reminds me, Alyse, Charlie called. He wanted to know if you wanted him to bring you some take-out for dinner instead of having you eat from the cafeteria?"

"That would be lovely," Alyse smiled, then turned to Cal. "At least, if it wouldn't torture you. I could eat in the other room if it will."

"I'll live. I just… did you say _Charlie_?" He had thought he'd hallucinated his son's presence earlier, or perhaps dreamed it.

"Yes. He was here this morning," Alyse confirmed. "Don't you remember?"

"Thought my brain made it up," Cal admitted. "When? How?"

"That, you can ask him yourself when he gets here." Alyse wiped his chin with a napkin, then put the last bowl back on the empty tray. Cal's stomach felt both empty and full at the same time. It was a strange sensation. "All I will tell you is that he's home, he's gone back to work, and he's currently living at our house while he and Shelby work through things."

There was a lot he could ask about that, but he had a feeling it was a more complicated conversation than his son might want to have with him. After months away, he wasn't even sure how he felt about it yet, other than some relief to know his son was _alive_. "Good." Without warning, the little energy he had seemed to fall out of him. He yawned, and felt himself slipping under. "I think…I need to sleep again. Wake me, before he leaves?"

"Don't worry. I'll make sure of it. Rest now." Alyse leaned in, fussing with the covers, tucking him in like she would a sick child. Then she kissed his cheek. "We'll be right here."

* * *

Amalea Finn awoke to a weird sort of darkness. Not that it was really dark, but the window she could see was round, and black. The only glow near her was warm and diffuse. Around her, something was thrumming in a constant, steady rhythm. She was under her heavy uniform winter jacket, and her face was pressed against something wool, and warm. Opening her eyes fully, she tilted her head.

The warm wool was Ryan's uniformed shoulder. The Rapid alchemist was still asleep, his face more composed and still than she ever saw it when he was awake. She remembered falling asleep, but not leaning against him. When had that happened, and what time was it? Slowly, she sat up and looked about the cabin.

They were still on the plane, heading South for Amestris with some haste, though she still didn't know why they had been recalled quite so suddenly. Not that she questioned the order. They had known at some point it would be time to go, it had just come without any warning, and the lack of explanation was odder. Perhaps it was because she was used to her superiors who were alchemists being more open in explaining tactics and decisions with their subordinates than many other officers. No State Alchemist ranked below Major, so perhaps that was why. This was the most closed-mouthed Twilight had been about anything.

Tringham was out cold. Twilight seemed to be up in the cockpit with Rothschild. The only other people in the cabin with them were Gloria and Alexei. The latter was also sound asleep, leaning back against the bulkhead at an angle Amalea would have found uncomfortable, except that she had certainly had to sleep in worse. Gloria was snuggled up beside him, directly across from Amalea, but her eyes were open.

"What time is it?" Gloria asked quietly.

Amalea wriggled until she could pull her pocket-watch out of her coat. In the dim light she could just read it. "It's almost midnight."

Gloria nodded thoughtfully. "I think we should be getting close to the Amestrian border then."

That sounded right, from what Amalea understood of the speed of the aircraft they were in, and how long it had taken them to fly back to Central with Whitewater. It still seemed incredibly short given the distances covered. Yet this flight also seemed shorter, because she wasn't frantically trying to keep alive her superior officer.

 _The one you had a crush on,_ her conscience reminded her. Gloria's _father…_ it seemed silly to her now. It had been hero worship, nothing more, and she had known that no feelings on her part would ever be reciprocated, neither would she have ever acted on them. Childish fantasies.

"Are you two dating?"

The question shocked her until she realized that Gloria wasn't reading her mind. The other woman had nodded towards Ryan.

"Not yet." She could have just said no, but it would have seemed inaccurate. They weren't dating, but that was because there was nowhere to go on _dates_ in the middle of a Drachman army camp. Or at least, they hadn't discussed anything in regards to a relationship, or even their friendship, though she was certain they were friends. "There hasn't been much time to talk about it."

Gloria nodded. "Sorry if I was nosy. It's been a while since I got to talk to anyone about anything normal."

"You don't have normal conversations with Alexei?" Amalea couldn't help a lightly teasing tone.

"Normal for _us,_ but not the same as normal with other people." Gloria admitted. "I _almost_ miss being assigned a good fluff or social piece to write about. Almost, because covering real news, bringing people the truth, is what I love. Did Sara tell any of you anything she didn't tell _us_ about why we left so suddenly? After we left to pack, I mean."

"No." Amalea shook her head, responding honestly. "Why, have you heard something?"

"Nothing concrete." Gloria leaned forward ever so slightly, so they were closer together. "A couple of hours ago I thought I heard radio communication in the cockpit. There was definitely some kind of communication, and it sounded like trajectories… of other aircraft. Now, I know Amestris _has_ other aircraft, but if we're supposed to be pulling out of Drachma, what would any of them be doing in radio range of us?"

A fascinating question. "They could be flying reconnaissance closer to the border, over the combat zone in the south-west," Amalea offered one possible answer. "Or maybe they sent us an escort?" It's possible they wouldn't see or hear another aircraft unless it flew much closer.

"Maybe." Gloria did not look convinced, but she did look frustrated. "It just feels like something very classified is up, and I know I don't qualify to know any of that before it goes down, but I don't know Sara well enough get a read on her or what it might be, or if she even knows herself. She's my mother's cousin, but the last time I saw her before they rescued her, I was a lot younger. We didn't interact as equals, but she's different now. Not in a bad way, just enough that I can't always get a read on her. I'm used to being able to figure things out with people I know."

"I wish I could help. I'd only heard stories about the Twilight Alchemist before her rescue," Amalea admitted. "They sounded more like legends, to be honest, even if we knew they could be believed… as much legends as stories about Fullmetal, and True Soul, and the original Flame Alchemist, and others. I know Whisper much better, and they seem to have a lot in common from what I've seen." Which made sense, as they were mother and daughter. "Still she is more… intense, focused. Fearless. She hasn't been reckless with herself, or any of us, but she doesn't seem to worry about any of the things regular people worry about. I guess none of the little stuff, or even some of the everyday military stuff, seems like it's worth sweating after what she's experienced."

"She seemed much more familiar at home," Gloria admitted, "When we visited her during her recovery. It could just be I've never seen her business-side before now. My father was always so careful not to show us the General and State Alchemist part of himself at home when we were kids. Of course, he didn't even like to talk about himself back past the war much, except for a very few stories. If I prodded, he might talk a little about Grandma Violet. I was in high school before I knew anything about his life really before he came to Central became a State Alchemist, or what he was like before he married my mother. Honestly, it was kind of shocking."

"What _was_ he like?" Amalea couldn't help asking. _She_ had heard a few stories, rumors really, about the Whitewater Alchemist, but she was certain there weren't nearly as many as there would have been when more of his generation of State Alchemists were still working. Only a handful of them hadn't retired yet, the ones that were still alive.

Gloria sat back. "He was, and my mother confirms this, a terrible flirt, and a pretty typical soldier. He dated… a _lot_ of women. He liked to party… hard. He'd left home before he turned eighteen because he and his father had a terrible relationship, and he kept getting in trouble and he dropped out of school, came to Central, and did what he'd always wanted to do. And I had _no_ idea. I knew he'd fought in a couple of wars. I knew there was more to him but not quite how much or just what." She shook her head. "Please don't tell him I ever said any of this to you. I mean… if you ever see him again… if he ever wakes up."

"I won't tell him," Amalea promised. "Though he'd better wake up. He owes a bunch of us a big thank you for hauling him up that mountain."

Gloria stared at her for a moment, then she nodded. "He sure does. Then he's got to wake up. If there's one thing dad's serious about, it's not having debts he owes anyone."

* * *

Charlie was both sorry he had missed his father's waking up for the second time, and yet a little relieved that he had not been there when his mother and Ethan had told him about his paralysis. He brought his mother a hot winter squash soup with crusty warm bread from a bakery down the street, and ate his own meal with her while his father slept. After sleeping all day himself after his all-nighter, he wasn't tired. There was no reason to go home immediately so he stayed, talking with his mother, and patiently waiting, nervous what his father's reactions to him would be, but encouraged by the fact his mother had said that his father _wanted_ to talk to him.

It was just before midnight when his patience was rewarded, and Cal Fischer awoke again. He blinked, yawned, and then his eyes fell on Charlie. "Hey there."

"Hey, Dad." Now that he was awake, he had no idea what to say. He had apologized more than once to the unconscious figure, and to his mother.

Thankfully, his father broke the silence first. "Your Mom tells me your hand is healed enough you've gone back to work."

"Yeah, it has. I've been assigned to the engineering team that's building our new airplanes." Given an in, Charlie was happy to spend a little while just talking about the things he could tell his father about his work in the weeks since he'd come home and gotten cleared to go off his medical leave. Talking about engine parts and his fascinating work was better than awkwardly apologizing for being a screwed-up mess, and his father listened attentively, asking occasional questions. When he ran out of that—at least that he could say in a public place like a hospital—he talked a little about the rest of his life. He'd had his auto-mail hand cleaned and tuned up recently. He was seeing one of the psychologists who worked on contract with the military like he was supposed to be. He had done a few around-the-house repairs and done a full tune-up on his dad's car in the garage in his spare time.

Sometime during the conversation, his mother slipped out of the room. Charlie wasn't sure when, but it was only after he had gone that his father got nosy. "So, what were you doing while you were gone?" he asked pointedly.

Charlie swallowed. "Working for a mechanic in a small town up north-west a ways. I wasn't very fast, but the guy who owned it is old and couldn't find anyone to hire to help him out. We made a decent pair. Not that I got paid much. I sent pretty much everything to Shelby."

"You really didn't get paid much then." His father was gazing at him intently. "Anything _else_?"

"Watched the news a lot. Especially after they got Gloria out there to cover what you were up to." Which wasn't what his father wanted to know. Charlie knew what the older man was pushing for. "And spent a lot of very lonely nights. _All_ of them in fact." He hoped he didn't press for more details. Charlie didn't like feeling like a boy again, but it was hard not to alone in the room with his father. The man who always seemed larger than life. The General. The Hero. The man he had disappointed over and over again his whole life by causing trouble, and making a mess of things even when his father tried to help him out. "It was pretty miserable. Not the work. Just the loneliness, and the guilt. I ruined everything. Now…I'm just trying to fix what I can."

"That's all anyone can do when they've screwed up."

Charlie's stomach squirmed under his father's resigned gaze. Finally, he asked the question he feared the answer to most. "Can you forgive me?"

His father looked momentarily startled, then thoughtful. It couldn't be a good sign that he was taking so long to consider his response. "Let me preface this by saying I am on a _lot_ of drugs right now… so I hope it makes sense."

"I'd be more worried if they didn't have you on a lot of drugs right now, Dad."

Cal made a face. "Charlie, when I left home at seventeen, I'd already dropped out of school, and I left behind an abusive alcoholic father, an ex-girlfriend I'd gotten pregnant who'd miscarried… and my mother, whom I left living with my father. I didn't have any friends. I can't really say I had many _good_ habits, but I had a bunch of lousy coping mechanisms, and a lot of very casual relationships." He paused then, motioning for the water glass. Charlie offered it, and held it while his father drank. After, he waited to let him continue. "I was afraid to get close to anyone, given how much of a disaster my life had been before. But you know, you keep living. I had people I could work with, and we got along most of the time… any girl I smiled at would give me the time of day if I asked. I told myself that was enough." He stopped to rest again.

Charlie grimaced. "It's not though."

His father shook his head. "Not at all. Then we were in Aerugo, and I stepped on that land mine, and woke up in a hospital laying in a bed, surprised I wasn't dead, and missing a chunk of leg." His voice dripped with irony, and Charlie could figure out why. "It took me three years to complete my auto-mail rehabilitation, and it was the lowest point in my life. For months I couldn't walk. I hurt constantly... A lot of people I thought were friends were really not that close and I barely saw them since I couldn't really go out much." He paused again.

"Maybe you should rest," Charlie suggested. He didn't want his father over-exerting himself.

"When I'm done." His father scowled, then coughed. "This is important and I've gone… too long… without saying it." He cleared his throat. "I thought I was useless. It felt like I would never get back to doing what I was good at, like my career and life were just spiraling downwards. I was lonely, and alone, and depressed. I started thinking maybe it wasn't even worth going on." He met Charlie's eyes with an intent gaze that made him incredibly uncomfortable, but unable to look away. "When you disappeared, yes, I was mad, but really I was terrified. I'd been where you were in a lot of ways, and I realized that I'd never taught you how to deal with anything like it… because you can't really. I was afraid someone would show up someday to tell us they'd identified your body dead somewhere. It happens, more often than I think anyone's comfortable talking about."

Charlie tried to imagine his father wanting to end it… but the story he had just told sounded so very familiar; the emotions were the same even if the situations weren't identical. Yet they were, in some ways, the same. "Well, I'm not dead in a ditch," Charlie replied, dispelling the awkwardness. He couldn't say the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but it hadn't stayed long. He owed Eli a lot more than just a phone call and an apology. "What brought you out of it?" He had to know.

"No one thing," Cal admitted, "But the few friends I had still came around sometimes, and I kept working at my leg, and eventually they let me go back to work. And then, on my first day back, I bumped into this _really hot_ babe in the hallway, knocked her papers everywhere, classic mistake. Then I asked her out, and she said yes."

Now that sounded entirely like something most of the guys Charlie knew would do. "Was it Mom?"

His father grinned. "Yeah, it was as a matter of fact."

"So, you found love and lived happily ever after."

"Actually, we dated for three weeks and she dumped me."

"She _what_?" He'd never heard _that_ before.

"Yeah. Well, I'd slept with some friends of hers, and she thought I drank and smoked too much. The friends thing weirded her out, and so she broke up with me on New Years Eve."

"Then how the heck are we here?" Charlie blurted out. Obviously, at some point they had gotten back together, but he was having trouble imagining how.

"We both grew up a lot over the next several years," his father admitted. "She didn't hate me, but you know I've got a decade on your mom. She was still a beautiful, innocent young woman with some very proper ideas, and I was anything but innocent, or proper. Still, eventually we got to be friends again, and then when she was ready, and I let myself really try, we worked out. Not that it's been smooth sailing all the time, and don't pretend you never noticed."

"I wasn't going to try." Charlie fiddled with the edge of the sheet as he listened. He could remember his parents arguing, sometimes about him. Though he thought he was beginning to see where his dad might be going with all this.

"Good. I guess…the thing I keep trying to get to… is well maybe it's two things," his father admitted. "I screwed my own life up enough that judging you… would make me the biggest hypocrite. I was always so afraid I'd end up like my old man… and I wanted my kids to be better than me."

"Well, Gloria's better than both of us, so at least one of us was the good kid." Charlie tried to dismiss the disappointment he felt in himself.

"Your sister takes after your mother in so many ways." That was said with a mixture of pride, and relief. "They're not you and me, and you're not me either. You haven't been a boy in years. You haven't had the luxury. I didn't either. Sure, you've screwed up. We all screw up. So, yes, if you need to hear me say I forgive you… I forgive you. I just hope you can work things out with Shelby." He coughed again, this time several times. Charlie helped him sip more water. It was time to wrap this up. It pained him how tired, and weak…and old, his father looked.

"I'm trying." Even if all he was allowed to do at the moment was minimal. At least they were talking. "I'm not allowed in the house or near the kids yet but… we're talking and… I'm listening."

"Good." His father's eyes drifted closed. "It's a start."

Charlie's eyes darted to the monitoring machinery out of habit as his father slipped back into unconsciousness. They had been warned that he would be doing a lot of sleeping for the next few days, possibly weeks, in his weakened condition, and as he started rebuilding his stamina, but after so long waiting for him to wake up, part of him still feared his father would slip away again.

The door behind him opened, and his mother returned, and one of the nurses, who said nothing but went to check the same vitals.

"Did you have a good talk with your father?" his mother asked as she joined them. He stood, letting her reclaim her seat.

Charlie watched her, trying to envision his mother as a 'really hot babe' breaking up with his dad. It still sounded weird. "Yeah. It was good, but it tired him out."

"He's just asleep," the nurse assured him from the other side of the bed where she checked the machinery, then added the next doses of medications to his IV.

"Do you want to go home?" his mother asked. "When is your next shift?"

"Not until morning," Charlie replied. Not that it would be nearly as hectic as the last couple. Every flight-ready craft was gone who knew where. "I think I'll stick around a little longer in case he wakes up again."

His mother smiled. "I think he'd like that."


	73. Chapter 73

**February 2** **nd** **, 1991**

Rothschild's landing of the plane back in Central was the smoothest yet, Sara thought with some admiration as the craft taxied up to the hangers in the early morning darkness. Her pocket watch and the clock in the cockpit both agreed that it was just after four in the morning. Other than security, and the expected ground controller who had been told to wait for them, there should be almost no one there. She could hear the rest of the passengers stirring in the back as they stopped. Un-belting, Sara stood and left the cockpit.

The other State Alchemists, Gloria, and Alexei were all awake and moving about the cabin, collecting their belongings. They paused when she joined them.

"There is a vehicle here to give us a ride back into town," Sara informed them. "We got a confirmation right before landing that they would be here. Everyone should head straight for the vehicle when we disembark. They'll be dropping each of us at home, or if you need to be elsewhere, that can be arranged. The important thing is that no one speaks about your experiences in Drachma until you receive clearance from your superior officers. At least, not anything that isn't public knowledge thanks to our crack reporting team." She shot Gloria a look. While she appreciated Amestrians getting the truth, it had made some parts of her job as commanding officer more difficult. "So, nothing about the last few days, or pulling out, or anything you may or may not see on the way out of here this morning. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Twilight," the Alchemists chorused.

Gloria had a stubborn set to her expression that reminded Sara of Cal. Still, eventually she nodded. Alexei was already nodding. "Our presence back home isn't classified is it?" she asked.

"No. The fact that we _have_ pulled out obviously won't be, because we're here." The fact that they were here and had visibly left with their aircraft mattered. "In fact, it wouldn't hurt at all for the two of you to have a report on the news tonight from Central with a very well-crafted update to that effect. I'll leave it to the two of you to decide what that would look like." Gloria and Alexei might do this for a living but Sara was certain she could trust them to be circumspect and careful in what they reported. It would all be true, of course.

"We can probably make that happen." Alexei's expression was serious. Sara knew he could not know why she had requested it, but he could make some educated guesses.

"Good, now that that's settled, Gloria, you're going to want to go to the hospital first on your way home." This, at least, was good news. Sara smiled. "Your father woke up yesterday."

Gloria's eyes went wide with shock, relief, and finally joy flitting across her face in a mix of emotions. Tears budded, and she wiped them delicately away with a finger. "Definitely. We'll go there first."

"All right everyone, let's go."

Outside the hanger, a troop transport truck was waiting, with a familiar form standing beside it.

"Welcome home." Trisha was smiling, despite the incredibly early hour. "Nice to see you all back alive and in one piece."

"That is usually how we prefer to do things," Felix Tringham chortled. "You our ride home, Whisper?"

"Alchemist Shuttle Services at your disposal," Trisha nodded. "If you'll load your things in the back and get in, I'll have everyone where they need to go in record time. Without speeding of course. It's just that there's no one on the roads at this hour." She turned towards the cab. "Order of drop off will be Tringham, home, Rothschild, Rapid, and Live Wire back to the barracks, and our intrepid reporters to the hospital."

Sara took the passenger front seat next to her daughter as everyone else got situated in the back rows of the transport van with military efficiency. "I'm going to assume your father put you up to this mission."

"I volunteered. At least I know most everything that went on in Drachma before I left, and I knew at some point you'd all be back here. The fewer people involved, the less gets misconstrued, or uncovered." That last made Sara look at her, but Trisha shrugged. "No, I have no idea what, specifically, is planned next now that we've pulled out of Drachma officially, except for the Kartosian and Cretan assistance in the south-west. Dad hasn't told me, or Roy, or James. I'm not sure who does know, but it's above my pay grade."

Clearly her daughter was hoping she might get more information out of _her._ "It is," Sara confirmed simply, leaving the matter at that.

Trisha shook her head. "You know you're going to get mobbed when you get home," she shifted topics. "You left Dad to try and keep up with all for of your furry new children."

"Are you saying he can't handle a couple of cute baby animals?" Sara asked, though she had known she was leaving him to some level of chaos. She had hoped that James, at least, would keep up with the dogs' training. The kittens were simpler.

"I'm saying I'm amazed he managed to handle human children. Or I would, if watching him wrangle the furballs was any indication of his past parenting capabilities. I certainly wouldn't let him parent something _now._ "

"Then it's a good thing we're slated to be indulgent grandparents for the rest of our lives, and not _real_ parents." Sara smiled. It would be nice when they were done with this Drachma mess, and she could just spend time being grandma to all of her grandchildren, and getting to know them better. She and Franz could take long walks with the dogs, and she could curl up and read books on winter days instead of fighting for the rights and safety of one group of people or another.

She purposefully kept the conversation light for the rest of the trip. It kept Trisha from asking questions that Sara was not at liberty to answer, and as much as Sara wanted to detour over to Headquarters when they dropped most of the team off in the barracks, she knew she shouldn't. She had no idea if Franz was still at work, or if he had gone home like he was _supposed to_ for his health, but she supposed she would find out soon enough.

Home was the last stop, at least for Sara. Trisha would continue back to her own house from there, and whatever sleep remained now that it was nearly five-thirty in the morning. In some homes, people were already getting up for the day.

Apparently, her own family qualified as some of those crazy people, at least this morning, because when Sara walked through the door with her duffel over her shoulder, Franz and James were both sitting at the breakfast table, eating and both generally dressed for the day, minus the uniform jackets.

Not that they were still sitting seconds after she entered the room. Franz was on his feet, his arms wrapped tightly around her with so much force she felt three pops in her back. Sara wrapped her arms around him too, and then pulled him close against her with a firm, passionate kiss, reveling in the strength of his grasp, the scent of aftershave and the taste of bacon and tea.

James was grinning at them, and Sara suspected if she turned around, Trisha would be behind her doing the same. Sara became aware then of the dogs, sniffing in madly excited circles around her and Franz, mostly trying to snuffle all over her boots.

"Welcome home, to the chaos," Franz murmured in her ear, before letting her go. "Thank you for keeping your promise."

"Rotting away in the frozen north was never my idea of a good time," Sara reminded him, gently chiding. "Have you been good while I was gone?" She changed direction with her line of questioning as she stared at her son instead. " _Has_ he been good?"

"You want my son to rat me out?" Franz asked, sounding like he was trying to sound insulted, but failing utterly.

"A good officer always reports honestly to his superiors," James chuckled. "Sorry Dad, but around here Mom still outranks you. He's been fine, Mom, aside from not getting enough sleep."

"Franz."

"Hey, I slept last night," he objected. "I've only been up for half an hour."

"What time did you go to bed?"

"Before midnight." Franz turned back to his last bites of breakfast, picking up a piece of toast. "I wanted to be awake when you got home. I missed you."

"I missed you, too." Sara let it go. Franz did look much better than he had after his heart attack, and not really any worse off than he had when she had left to go back to Drachma and put their plan into action. "I was hoping we'd have more than a few minutes together before you run off. Much as I'd like to go right to work with you, I haven't slept much in the past twenty-four hours either." Right now, sleep in her own bed was a necessity rather than a luxury. Military bedding left her stiff and sore, and her leg achy, even now. She would have to trust to Franz to make sure she didn't miss anything critical in the next few hours. She was dying to know what Savahin's response was going to be to Gavril's ultimatum.

Franz nodded. "Of course. It's been a long trip. Have you eaten?"

"Ration bars on the flight," Sara admitted reluctantly.

"Geez, Mom." That from James. "Sit down and have something." He looked at Trisha. "Hey, Sis, can you give me a ride to headquarters?"

"Sure. Not like I was planning on going home anytime soon."

"Awesome. Dad, you can have the car." James grabbed his uniform jacket. "That way you can catch up with Mom before you come in. Just let Krista know I got a ride in early, okay?"

"We will," Franz promised with a bemused expression as their children rushed out the door.

Despite being exhausted, Sara smiled. "Nice that they're finally old enough to know when to leave us alone."

"Did Trisha try to get information out of you in the car?" Franz asked.

"Yes, but I didn't tell her anything." Sara moved past him finally, towards the breakfast she could smell of oat porridge, and bacon. "No one asked about the fact the planes were gone, though I'm sure they noticed."

"It's a little hard to hide when the only aircraft in Amestris aren't in their hangers," Franz nodded, as he picked up his unfinished tea. "Everyone working on the project knows that it's classified and they can't say anything. Their careers are counting on it."

"Standard military protocol really." Sara filled a bowl and joined him at the table. "It's hardly the first 'secret mission' in Amestrian history, and if things go well, no one will ever know." The last was said with false lightness. They both knew how unlikely it was that it would turn out that way. If pressed, the official answer to _where are the planes_ was _training exercise._

"Your father was highly suspicious when I pulled them off the project and sent them home."

"My father is highly suspicious of everything, especially when he has a valid reason to be." If the Fullmetal Alchemist hadn't picked up on the fact that something was up he didn't know about, she'd have been shocked. "It's best for everyone if he and Mom aren't anywhere around today."

"Best for them, certainly." Franz sighed, running one hand through his hair as if to smooth it, though it just ended up rumpled. "Though there are a few points of this I wish could have asked his advice on."

"We agreed the fewer people in on it the better," Sara reminded him. It was a daring plan, much more in the style of the great Flame Alchemist, than any of his successors who had sat in the office of the President of the Military. If everything went _right_ it was still going to start a political shit show in the current climate.

"We did, and I still think it's the right decision. I just wish right was a little clearer cut in this situation."

"Are the planes in position?"

"I don't know. When I left the office last night some of them were still on their way to their initial destinations. I left orders to call me if anything came up during the night, so given the lack of calls, I can assume that nothing went critically wrong."

That, at least, was a relief. "It feels weird, _leaving_ the big fight before it's over," Sara admitted. "Given the weather conditions, if Trisha had stayed with us, she and I could probably have snowed over the entire remaining half of Savahin's army."

"And they'd forever be saying that the new government only got power because of foreign assistance. It would never stand on its own, and you and I both know that." Franz reached out, laying one hand across her free one. "So did the others, however it all turns out. This had to be done this way."

"I hope you can convince the Assembly and the rest of the Generals at Headquarters of that." Sara hated being the skeptic in this conversation. "Because we can't back out of this now." Not from an ethical standpoint anyway. "Some of them are going to want your head."

"But only _some_ of them." Franz smiled. "That's exactly what we're counting on. Now, finish up breakfast. Do you want a bath before bed? I can get one drawn before I head in to the office."

"That would be lovely." Sleep could wait a _few_ more minutes. A hot soak was something else she had not enjoyed in months. "With the lavender salts?"

Franz stood, giving her hand one last squeeze before letting go. "One hot bath, coming up."

Sara turned back to her food when he left the room, but was only a few bites in before she realized she was being stared at by not one, but four sets of eyes. Moments later, her legs were mobbed. The puppies whimpered and snuffled and gave her happy eyes and tails, and the kittens rubbed up against her legs, purring frantically. All at once, she could see how they might be a little overwhelming. Reaching down with her free hand, she gave his one a few scratches. "I won't be sleeping alone this morning, will I?" she asked them.

Crème mewed at her with an irritated noise that she was sure meant _of course not._

* * *

It had been a long night. Niki Marskaya hadn't expected to sleep, which was good, because it meant that the few cat naps he had managed to catch felt almost like sleep. He lay on the couch in the living room of the small house they were using as a safehouse and undisclosed temporary headquarters, staring into the fireplace, watching the flames slowly go down. Every so often he had gotten up and fed the fire, so the room was warm and inviting come the first crack of dawn, when he gave up on sleep and went into the kitchen to put on water for tea. He had a feeling they would need a lot of it today.

While he had no official title as far as this new government went, he was serving as a sort of second-in-command for Gavril Mihalov, but only on the resistance side. Since he knew all of the unlisted secret numbers and locations for his father and the Eastern resistance, he was critical mostly as a communication piece of the plan.

Whatever Savahin dropped on them today—presuming it wasn't a bomb—Niki expected they would all be very busy coordinating whichever actions came next. Mihalov and his father would never surrender, but Savahin almost certainly wasn't going to accept the offer to surrender and at least form a truce now before the rest of his army was decimated.

Niki had been a little surprised to learn that the Amestrians were leaving. From a strategic perspective, it made little sense to send away some of their most powerful allies. The political perspective was different, and he understood that. Western Drachma. Eastern Drachma. Any Drachma… needed to stand on its own to be taken seriously. Savahin was sandwiched between two major rivals and a lot of very unhappy citizens willing to die to protect what remained of their country, and what mattered most: the people.

There wasn't much for breakfast, but by the time Gavril joined him, and the couple of other aides that had come with them, the bread rolls were warm, and slathered thickly with butter and jam. The tea was steeped and ready to drink.

:Let's see if he's decided to be inexplicably reasonable,: Gavril commented as he sat down in an old, faded leather chair and leaned forward, turning on the television. At the side of the room, they also turned on the radio. Missing the announcement because they weren't paying attention to both would be foolish. It was almost certain he would say something this morning, particularly as his men hadn't started shooting in the night through the snowstorm.

A snowstorm that was lightening, but had left them all well covered in snow. Snow that Western Drachma's new alchemists, even hurriedly trained, could fight in better than anything Savahin had on the ground. At least, here to the West. The Eastern forces would have a tougher time of it, but would still have the advantage of the mountains. As the weather hit the ridges, it would dump whatever moisture was left, meaning it would leave more snow on Savahin's Eastern forces worse than Niki's father's soldiers.

The news out of Petrayevka started with a very uncomplimentary commentary on Gavril's statements from the night before. Niki rolled his eyes, but noticed the other man listening intently, and it occurred to him that this was the story the people inside Petrayevka, the ones Savahin could control the most, were listening to, and possibly the only version they had gotten since Valhov's death. They might even believe it, in a vacuum of opposing viewpoints. Gavril needed to know how he, and how all of them, were being presented to others. It also might give him ammunition for later, knowing how to counter the arguments and lies.

Finally, it turned to an introduction of Savahin, their great and magnanimous leader, and his response to the rebellious traitors.

:They make it sound like a compliment,: Niki couldn't help commenting.  
Gavril smiled.

Savahin appeared before them in his outfit that looked much like a military uniform, but without the standard trappings of traditional Drachman military rank. :Good morning citizens of Drachma. I wish to make a statement, addressing briefly the voice of the opposition, the traitorous self-proclaimed leader of the Western provinces.:

:Self-proclaimed my ass.:

Gavril waved him to silence. :Snarky comments later.:

:We have had no need to consider your ridiculous demands. We will not negotiate with rebels. If you push the fighting back into the streets of Petrayevka, you will be no better than any of the blood-letting power grabbers who have come before you. If _you_ surrender now, and come to me, with you and all of your other rebel leaders who have abandoned the rightful Drachman government, I may be lenient. If you do not, then we will keep on until we drive every last one of you into the ground and leave you for the vultures. To my commanding officers, I give this order… leave no traitor standing.: Then Savahin turned and strode away out of sight of the camera.

:Well that was to the point.: Niki said as the camera went back to the news anchors. This was it. There would be no truce. At least, not now. That meant more fighting. In the South, Savahin's forces were so outnumbered they were already held at a stalemate. Here, and to the East, that meant it was time to keep pushing. The streets of Petrayevka itself. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Gavril was sitting in silence, quite still. The other men in the room were waiting, Niki realized, for him to say something. The older man sipped his tea, finishing the cup before he looked away from the broadcast. :Marskaya.:

Niki jumped, the word came so suddenly. :Yes, Sir?:

:Call the General. Tell him not to hold anything back. Tell him… it's going to rain.:

Rain? The last part made no sense. It must be code for something. Niki nodded, standing to go to the telephone in the next room. "I'll tell him. Though I think we made a mistake.:

:Do you?: Gavril gave him an arched look.

:I think it was a mistake to send the Amestrians home. If there was a time we needed them, it's now.:

He didn't like the expression that crossed Gavril's face. The man clearly thought he was being naïve for some reason. Like he didn't fully understand the situation. :You'll have to trust us, Niki. That was not only my decision. I know it seems that giving up the tactical advantage for a political one in the future might look foolish, but we're playing a long game here. You'll see.:

:I hope you're right.:

* * *

Franz wasn't at all surprised by Savahin's morning broadcast, or the private phone call directly to his office that he got less than thirty minutes later with the critical intelligence that Mihalov and Marskaya were moving forward with their plan to press Savahin all the way back into the city itself if necessary. The snow had lightened up overnight, and the skies were clearing, but there was anywhere from three to five feet of snow anywhere on the ground, with some areas drifting up to eight feet.

Fighting had resumed almost immediately, and Western Drachma's new alchemists, while limited in what they could do, were having a field day doing it. The plan was moving forward. He passed along updated instructions where they needed to go and then sat back to see how things unfolded that morning while he finished up reports that needed to be complete before that afternoon's meeting with the Diplomatic Corps and the Assembly's Committee of Foreign Affairs, who had an overwhelmingly pushy number of opinions about how the situation should be handled.

Gloria and Alexei had managed to do precisely as he had asked Trisha to instruct them, and appeared on a mid-morning prime time National news program to give commentary and report on their recent experiences covering the news in Drachma. They were being touted as the closest things to subject matter experts Amestris had to the Western Drachman strategy and motivations that Amestris had on hand. That was good, too. More than anything, Franz had wanted to establish very clearly that the Amestrians that were known to be in Drachma, had pulled out as promised. If Sara hadn't been so exhausted, he would have asked her to go as well, but this was enough for now. Gloria and Alexei, and some of their most recent photography, made a splash all over the news. None of it, he noted with satisfaction, gave away anything of military significance that would tell Savahin what his adversaries planned. No secrets were leaked. It was excellent journalism. Franz made a note to suggest to their regular publishers in North City that they both deserved a hefty raise, that was if they didn't already find those waiting when they got home.

Franz wondered how long they would remain in Central this time, or if they would consider moving South again for the wider national market. They could probably have the pick of any newspaper, magazine, or news broadcast program they wanted to work for in the country.

It was almost time for his afternoon meeting when there was a knock on the door, and Tore Closson entered the room. "Sorry to interrupt, but I just finished debriefing the Alchemists who got back from Drachma this morning, and I thought you'd want the report before your meetings this afternoon."

"That would be incredibly useful." Franz nodded and took the papers Tore offered him. "Even Twilight?" he looked startled. He supposed it was late enough that Sara could have come in, but if so, she hadn't slept nearly as long as he had expected her to.

"She arrived just as I was finishing up with the others," Tore admitted with an understanding smile. "It wouldn't have been a very complete report without the commanding officer; She also brought me her own reports from the mission, which are summarized here."

"Good work, Shock." Franz leafed through them, skimming for a general sense of what was in the documents though it mostly appeared to be standard action reports, as well as a detailed explanation of what training the Western Drachman alchemists had been given, who they were, and Sara's detailed assessment of their capabilities. Should they ever need it in the future, that _would_ be useful. "Angling for Fischer's job are you?"

"Would you let me say no if I begged?" Tore retorted with a resigned expression. He was joking, of course. Franz knew full well that if offered, Closson would take the promotion to head of the State Alchemist Department. While not every State Alchemist reported directly to that office, if they were combat focused and assigned to other offices, it was the organizational focal point for all of the Laboratories that were military funded, the independent alchemist research, and the Training Program and State Alchemy Exam. That said, these days there were only a very small number of State Alchemists who were assigned to offices outside that Department, and most of them were because they were on track for much higher rank than most State Alchemists ever achieved. Like Roy Mustang had been. Like others who showed a real skill for military tactics.

Franz wasn't sure that had been what his predecessors had intended, but that was how it had evolved. He wondered, as that had changed the nature of the Amestrian military, if the benefits would prove to outweigh the costs. Many of those changes, a lot of it in fact, seemed to have come much more heavily under Rehnquist, after the Drachman War, when their numbers had been decimated so badly. Perhaps, now that there were more, it was time to consider assigning the units out under the more traditional military units again.

"I imagine you'd make a terrible beggar, Closson." Franz closed the report. "There is no one else I trust to take over as head of the State Alchemist Program. In light of recent events, that has become clear to me. Fischer's retirement papers are already in process. His medical reports make it clear he will never be able to serve active duty again, and we both know he was only holding out until this conflict was over to put them in anyway."

"I'd imagine Twilight is out of the question."

"Even if she'd take it, which she won't." Franz shook his head. Sara had wanted to train alchemist again, to work with them, but not in that capacity. Given the current climate, it was also ill advised. "There's also absolutely no way there wouldn't be cries of favoritism if I even seriously considered it. That's hard enough with as many family members as we _have_ in the program. Fortunately for you, most people never seem to remember that we're sort-of related."

"Being the Foster-son of your Father-in-Law is conveniently not all that obvious or memorable," Tore agreed. "I've made a point of not telling the new recruits about that part of my training for a couple of decades now. Almost everyone who knows about my connections to Fullmetal is retired, or too high ranking to gossip with the kids."

"That's a wise decision." There were times Franz wished he could do the same. Not that he did not care about and appreciate his extended family, but there were times—like now—when that connection might not be mutually beneficial. "Any formal ceremony will have to come later, but consider yourself officially in charge of the State Alchemist Department. I'll have your official orders written up as soon as I can find a secretary with a spare moment to breathe."

Tore looked amused, then straightened up and saluted properly. "Thank you, Sir. If you have no further need of me, I'll get back to work."

"I'm sure there's plenty to keep you busy. Dismissed, General."

When Tore was gone, Franz flipped through the report in a little more detail, taking note of any information he could use that would bolster their position and his plans when he spoke at the meetings he had this afternoon, first with the Assembly and Diplomatic Corps, and then with the higher ranking Officer Corps, only those highest ranking Generals who were the heads of the various military Departments; which would also now include Closson.

Franz took a moment to scribble down the appropriate information to hand to one of the officers in his front office. The paperwork for that promotion should have been done days ago, but part of him, like everyone else, had been waiting for news of Cal's situation to improve. He'd had a talk with Ethan, and his brother-in-law had made it very clear that it would be close to a miracle if the Whitewater Alchemist ever walked again. Expecting him to return to duty was entirely out of the question.

He picked up his briefings, and went to the door, walking out into the main part of the office. "Lieutenant Baulder."

Marisa Baulder looked up. "Yes, Sir, President Heimler?"

"Please have the following orders drawn up by this afternoon." He handed her the note.

She looked at it, then nodded. "I'll get on it right away, Sir."

"Very good, Lieutenant. I'll be in meetings the rest of the afternoon. Only interrupt if we get calls from that list I gave you." A list of code names and an additional confirmation code. She didn't need to know who they really were.

"I promise, Sir, no interruptions except for your priority list."

"Good, Carry on."

* * *

Gloria would have preferred to have spent the entire day with her parents, but there had been other work to do. Good to her word, she and Alexei had managed to finagle some air time on the network of a friend, who had been more than thrilled to get them on to talk about Drachma, especially given that morning's news. Gloria could imagine only too vividly the combat currently occurring on the plains West, and East, of Petrayevka. While General Marskaya no longer had any alchemists on his side, he had the advantage of the high ground, and several large artillery pieces his growing army had taken from Savahin's men.

It still fed incredibly odd to be back in Amestris so quickly, and after spending so long in and out of Drachma. From the moment she and Alexei had fled Petrayevka she had felt an intimate part of the conflict going on in the country to the north, even though she wasn't a citizen and didn't live there. People she knew did; many of Alexei's family did. It felt wrong to have left, even if there wasn't anything more she could do but report events. Gavril Mihalov had pulled them inextricably into things when he had needed their help and they had chosen to assist him in spreading his voice across Drachma. Now, she only hoped that his plan succeeded, and that Drachma was able to rebuild with a better system than it had before. Whether Mihalov was at the head of it or not, he had brought them this far.

Alexei understood how she felt. They had discussed it at length. She had a feeling that Ted Elric might feel the same. After all, he had assisted the resistance directly for months, working closely with Marskaya and his family. One way or another, Amestrians had gotten involved, but mostly as individuals, until this new alliance. It was fascinating, and complicated, and dangerous, and she still found herself wanting to be in the thick of it.

The mid-morning news show did not dampen her feelings, or make her feel more at home, but it did help her feel like they had completed more of what they set out to do, as they revealed plenty of the photos that Alexei had gotten prior to leaving that had never made it on the air, or had not yet been shown. Some of them had been practically still wet from the dark room.

Since she still had a key to her parents' house, Gloria had made use of it to let herself and Alexei in long enough to shower, dress in fresh clothing, and get a snack before the program so they were presentable and awake. Afterwards, they hit delays. There wasn't time to get back to the hospital before a government official met them at the television station with a car, and whisked them over to military Headquarters with the information that their presence was being _requested._

Gloria wasn't even sure where they were going once they got there, but she and Alexei hadn't argued. She wasn't afraid of most of the people who worked for the military. Even if they didn't like her family, or what was going on in Drachma, no one would dare do anything to the daughter of a ranking General and her husband, both loyal Amestrian citizens.

At least, she wanted to believe that. For all she knew the people who wanted to talk to them were political rivals, or part of a faction in the government or military who did not approve of how the Drachma situation was being handled as far as Amestrian involvement.

Alexei looked outwardly calm, but Gloria had learned to read his mannerisms over the years. Inside, he was nervous the way she was, and probably for the same reasons. So it was with a great deal of relief that Gloria walked into the office to which they had been shown, to recognize Sara Heimler and Tore Closson.

The two of them waited for the door to be closed before either spoke.

Closson smiled apologetically. "Sorry for the mysterious summons. We didn't tell them who had summoned you either, to keep it quiet."  
"What is this about?" Alexei asked, a little more sharply than Gloria would have spoken.

"Classified information," Sara said. "The newscast you did this morning was perfect, by the way. Precisely the right balance of facts and truth, with artful omission of anything of a delicate nature."

"That is what we're known for." Gloria wondered what classified information meant. Was the reason classified? Or did she and Alexei have information that qualified?

"You developed your photos. We'd like to have a look at them, all of them, before anything else gets released," Closson explained. "If there's anything sensitive in them, something you may or may not have noticed while shooting, we'll need to keep those."

"For how long?" asked Alexei.

"Depends on the situation," Sara cut in. "Possibly for longer than those of us in this room may be alive to remember them. Of course, I'm willing to pay you for them—outside of government funds—so that you don't lose livelihood for them."

A generous offer. Gloria got the feeling that if the government wanted something covered up, they just confiscated it. Or at least, that was what was implied by Sara's offer to actually pay them. "I take it you won't be able to tell us what about them is classified."  
"Most likely not." At least Closson was honest about it. "We would very much appreciate it if you cooperated, Gloria. I don't want this to be difficult, and I'm sure Cal and Alyse would rather I didn't keep you away when you could be at the hospital."

Gloria looked at Alexei, who shrugged. "Let's get it over with." He set down his bag and pulled out his newest photographs. "This isn't everything," he admitted as he lay them out on the desk. "There are more I haven't gotten to yet, but this is everything I had time to do in the time and room they were able to give me to have something for the show."

"You'll bring us the rest when they're developed." That part wasn't a question.

Alexei nodded.

Gloria waited and watched as the two Alchemists poured over the images, searching every corner of every image for anything that might accidentally give away a strategy, a location, an identity. They spoke in hushed tones, but nothing they said was particularly incriminating. At least, not that she could hear. In the end, they only pulled three photos out of the pile. The rest were straightened and handed back to Alexei.

"You do excellent work," Closson complimented him. "And while we're holding on to these for now, there's a good chance we'll be able to give them back in a few months, once the situation in Petrayevka is taken care of."

"You seem positive that it will be handled quickly," Alexei commented cautiously as he put the photographs away carefully.

"Only in that we have confidence that Mihalov and Marskaya know what they're doing," Sara replied. "Savahin can't hold on to what he's got. Valhov had the diplomatic background and the skills to have possibly consolidated the new government. Savahin's alienated so many he's ruling by fear and Nationalist rhetoric. Drachma's had far more effective dictators in its history. He won't be remembered as one of them."

She spoke with conviction, like one who understood. Of course, Gloria realized, she must as well. Of all of them, perhaps Sara Heimler had the deepest understanding of what was at stake of all of them, with the exception of Alexei. Though between them all, she had lived the longest in that country, even if it wasn't as a willing citizen. Sara might know Drachma's real history, particularly it's most recent, better than any of them. She'd lived with the people who had lost. She had been the prisoner of this regime, that had stolen a chunk of her life away.

"Well, we certainly won't be writing him any flattering eulogies," Gloria quipped. "Are we free to go now?" she turned that question to her father's best friend. "I'd like to get back to the hospital."

"You may go," Closson nodded. "I'm afraid the car isn't available to take you back, but I know that there's a bus that runs by there that stops at the main entrance in about twenty minutes. I'm not sure if it's too cold for you to consider walking."

Gloria smiled. "It's not, but I've done enough walking around in the snow for a while. Thank you."

They did not relax until they were well down the hall.

"That went all right," Alexei commented neutrally as they passed the occasionally military personnel in the hallway.

"It could have been much worse," Gloria agreed. "I don't know if they were assigned to it, but I'm grateful it wasn't someone else. I have a feeling there are some people who would not have been as gracious… or fair."

"So, are we catching the bus?" Alexei asked as they walked down the nearest stairs, "Or are we walking after all? I mean, it's not really that cold out."

It was true. After so much time in Drachma, particularly in the winters, Gloria couldn't call the winter weather—which had left only a recent dusting on the trees, and had little wind— _cold._ "The bus will still be slightly faster," she pointed out, "And I'm tired. We still haven't really slept." Of course, they had slept on the flight, but not deeply.

They were nearly to the doors when a familiar silhouette stopped Gloria in her tracks. Was that… "Charlie?"

The soldier crossing their path at an angle at the end of the hallway paused, and turned, looking at her with familiar eyes in a barely familiar face.

Intellectually, Gloria had known Charlie was around somewhere. Her mother had told her that morning that her wayward younger brother had come home, and was back on duty. She'd even mentioned the facial hair, but somehow the reality and suddenness of it caught her off guard. For months, any time she could spare a thought for her brother, she had been alternately furious and worried, and sometimes both at once. Over the years her brother had often infuriated and confused her, but she loved him, and when he'd up and vanished, even she had not expected it.

The man standing in front of her in uniform was a far cry from the one she had last seen, and it wasn't just that he looked different. His carriage was different, his whole stance. The look of recognition in his eyes followed by worry, and then an abashed and slightly hopeful smile was what made him suddenly _Charlie_ again. "Hey, Gloria. When did you get back?" He changed directions and joined them.

Of course, he wouldn't have known. "This morning," she told him. "I guess you don't watch the news. We did a whole segment." Most of Amestris knew they were back by now.

"Not this morning," Charlie apologized. "I've been buried in paperwork all day. Even engineers have to keep up with reports." For a moment it sounded as if he might elaborate, but he stopped himself. "Do you have business here at Headquarters?"

"We've just finished," Alexei cut in without offering any additional information.

"We were about to go back over and see Dad," Gloria added. "We saw him this morning, but it was a pretty short visit."

"Great!" Charlie smiled. "I'm heading there right now. I have the car. Do you want a ride?"

"That would be great." Definitely better than walking or waiting for the bus. "Does Mom ever go home?" she asked more quietly as she gestured for Charlie to lead the way. Together the three of them left the building and walked towards parking.

"Sometimes." Charlie led them towards the car. "She had to more before I got home, but then she started spending almost all of her time there once I was here to watch the cat, and keep track of things. Now that Dad's awake, I expect she'll want to be with him as much as possible until he's able to come home." His smile slipped.

"What are they going to do when that happens?" Gloria wondered the question she had not yet dared ask her mother. The townhouse she had grown up in had three different sets of stairs; the front porch, the stairs up from the garage, and the stairs to the bedrooms. Getting someone with mobility issues just in and out of the house was going to be difficult, even if he was able to get to the point where he could walk again. Until then, there was no way she could imagine her mother being able to get him in and out of the house, or even up to bed, or in and out of the bath.

"I don't know," Charlie admitted. "We could modify the house, but it would always be less than ideal, and Mom and Dad aren't getting any younger. I heard Mom the other day standing in the living room talking to herself, or maybe to Miss Whiskers. She was wondering if she should sell it and look for something with only a ground floor."

Sell the house… well, that certainly made sense from a logical standpoint, even if it was a bit of a punch to the gut emotionally. Of course, it had to be just as hard if not harder on her mother. "It might be easier," Gloria acknowledged, "But I wonder what Dad will think."

"I don't know if it's occurred to him yet." Charlie stopped as they reached the car, and unlocked the doors. "Sometimes he talks a fair amount, but it's never about what's going to happen next, or soon, or in a few weeks."

"Or maybe he has, and that's why he doesn't want to talk about it," Alexei suggested as they all got in and buckled up.

That somber thought followed them all the way to the hospital. Gloria was glad it wasn't a long drive.

Charlie stopped her as they got out in the hospital parking lot.

"Before we go in, I owe you an apology."

Gloria turned to look at him, startled. "Me? What for?" She could think of a lot of things he might have decided he needed to apologize for but that didn't narrow down the list to one in particular.

Charlie looked uncomfortable again, a much more familiar expression. "Over the years, you've always given me really good advice, and I've been stupid enough almost never to take it. You were right, about basically everything. I'm also really sorry for missing your wedding." He looked at both of them. "I should have been there. Mom took an entire three hours away from Dad one night just to show me the photo album she put together."

Her first, admittedly uncharitable, thought was that it would have saved everyone a lot of trouble if he had just listened to her in the first place; when she told him to be patient about Shelby, when she'd told him to stop fooling around… but she would not say those things. It was obvious that Charlie already knew that. He was apologizing and he was—according to her mother—trying to make amends and fix his life. "I forgive you, Charlie. As your older sister, I admit it's kind of nice to hear you admit I was right, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still pretty mad at you, but I wish the cost hadn't been so high." She pulled him into a hug. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, and hugged her back.

"Thanks, Gloria. I can take mad. I deserve mad. If I'd made you hate me, I'd never forgive myself."

"Keep saying nice things about me, and you won't have to worry about it." Gloria gave him one more brief squeeze, then let him go. "We should have a good long talk later tonight, but right now, let's go make her day by being a family all together again for a while."

Charlie's smile returned. "See, you always have the best advice."

* * *

Evening fell, and then night, and the nightly news brought no good news out of Drachma. Not that it brought much news at all, given they got only what was recorded and repeated from other news sources. It was a subdued, tense night in the Closson house. Though the tension, Tore supposed, could have been mostly in his own mind, since he was feeling it. Sitting in on meetings entirely in Cal's place had felt odd, and his official promotion paperwork had indeed been written up, approved, stamped, and presented by the end of the day. Under other circumstances it would have been good news, and a night to celebrate. Taking Charisa and Camelia out for dinner might have been nice, but tonight it would wait. For one thing, he had gotten home late enough that Charisa had already made dinner, and she and Camelia had eaten, and his daughter had her nose buried in homework. For a while he hadn't been sure Franz would even let him go home tonight.

There was definitely something going on tonight. Something of the highest levels of classified; high enough that even he didn't know the details of what was going on. All he did know, because it had been necessary and because he had been in charge of handling the Laboratories while Cal was gone and so he knew about the new plane fuels, and the new developments in weaponry for them, was that the newly trained pilots, and the planes, were no longer in Central. He knew this, because his son had been daredevil enough to volunteer for that flight program, and get trained by Edward, and had told Lorraine they had training and would be gone for a few days.

Lorraine had called from North City wondering if Tore knew anything more he could say.

That had been the first Tore knew of the mission. Franz had not given them any indication of what it was about at the meeting. The General in charge of the Engineering Corps had said nothing related to the training either other than that they were testing them for readiness. His report had merely stated that the development was going according to schedule and everything was meeting specs within acceptable parameters.

It was some comfort that his daughter was safe upstairs. That Brandon was off in Creta studying at the prestigious culinary school he had decided to apply to as a start to achieving his life's goal of owning his own restaurant, with his own unique take on cuisine. It was, at least, more likely to keep him in pay than attempting to be a professional athlete, or an actor. Not that Tore would have told his son not to pursue either, since they knew people who did both, but the fact that he had a passion for cooking that had grown over time was one he could appreciate.

As he watched the evening news, reporting that fighting had continued through the day, and had only stopped an hour after dark for the night, Tore hoped that his intuition was wrong.

 _Heimler, what you have really sent my son off into?_


	74. Chapter 74

**February 2** **nd** **, 1991**

The glow of the instruments panel in front of him, and a bright moon above, were the only light inside the cockpit of the plane in which Dare Closson flew, his only companions the soldiers behind him who had been assigned to handle the tail-guns that had been installed before they left home, and drop any munitions needed on the ground below through the bomb bay doors. The other was their mechanic, in case of emergencies.

It was one of the smaller craft that had been designed, but it didn't need the crew compliment of eight it could fit—in admittedly very confined quarters—if needed. Three soldiers total, and a couple of very large bombs that would be loaded into brackets, and lowered through the doors in the floor in order to drop them on potential targets.

They had practiced with paint-filled balloons on targets on the ground for a couple of weeks, and accuracy had improved with each run, but Dare wasn't entirely confident that was enough practice. All of the pilots who had volunteered for the program were good, and the munitions officers handling weaponry had some of the best accuracy in the army, but it was still an untested strategy against an enemy.

They had been told to tell any family who asked they were doing training exercises, and nothing else. Dare had felt the crushing weight of secrecy when he had called to tell Lorraine she wouldn't hear from him for a bit. Leaving his wife in North City to return to Central had been difficult enough, even if it was only supposed to be for a few weeks.

Telling his newly-confirmed pregnant wife he was going to be out of communication for several days had been much harder. Knowing that what he was doing was incredibly risky at a really terrible time only made it worse. She had told him the news nearly a month after he left, when they realized he would not be home quickly to hear it in person, and he had tried to call her every night since to see how she was doing.

Until the morning they left, he had not known the specific details of the mission.

Now he hoped they weren't flying into certain death. Not that Dare had any plans to let anyone in his aircraft die.

Flying in at night was their best chance for survival. Flying in from their initial staging points hidden in the Drachman mountains had made it easier. Their initial flight had been to those points, paired with supply planes who had been carrying additional fuel and other necessities so that the smaller planes to make their runs on full tanks and fully supplied. Those points had been to both the East and West.

None of their specifics had been divulged to anyone in Drachma, as far as Dare was aware. Certainly, their position in the Northern mountains had not been near any of the towns they had flown high over the night before. They had landed and waited in position for one of two commands; either to proceed with the mission as outlined, or to return home.

Savahin had not surrendered. The mission moved forward.

So now Dare and his team, along with three other planes of the smaller, more maneuverable size, were heading towards one of several targets outlined for destruction tonight. While he new six other craft were flying singly toward the locations identified as most likely to contain Savahin himself, or critical subordinates, overnight, two more were heading for the primary military supply depot outside Petrayevka.

Their larger team had a different target; the rumored, and confirmed by intelligence, second aircraft factory and airfield set up north of Petrayevka. By car it would be a several hour drive. By plane, it was a matter of fifteen or twenty minutes from the city.

If the new Drachman planes were ready for combat soon, Savahin would not wait to use them. The fact that he had not meant that they weren't ready, or given their smaller and lighter nature, they had too much trouble in the weather to use just yet.

Which meant that this was their best, and possibly only, shot at getting them before they had to deal with the enemy in the air. As confident as Dare was in his ability to fly his plane, he was not confident in her ability to outmaneuver the smaller fighting planes Drachma had fielded so far.

During their training, Fullmetal had told them his own experience with out-flying an enemy plane in the dark, in the Drachman mountains, though the reason for the mission had been very vague on the details. It was not an experience Dare was looking forward to having for himself. Or at least, that was what he kept telling himself. Caution would get him home. Still, part of him was excited by the idea, just as he had been excited at the possibility of flying at all.

"Hey, Closson, how long till we reach the target?"

Dare checked their position, direction, and speed again, as he did every few minutes. "Five minutes, Fitzgibbons," he addressed his gunner. "Everything ready?"

"Tail guns are loaded. Bombs are racked and ready," the other man appeared beside him for a moment, looking out the window into the dark night. Dare was grateful for the moon and stars, or outside it would have been total blackness. The ground below glowed, easily visible with its thick blanket of snow. Fitzgibbons had been in for about ten years longer than Dare, and spent most of it working in weapons development and testing. "As long as we time it right, the Drachmans are going to get quite the pyrotechnics show tonight."

"I'll line it up, you light it up," Dare agreed. "Any engineering concerns, Gray?" he called back. The last thing they needed was problems right before going in.

"Hums like the bird she is," Francine Gray joined them. She took off her hat and wiped her forehead. "I just finished checking the back-up fuel tanks, and the coolant lines. No leaks. She's as tight as she can be."

"Good, cause she's about to prove her worth, and so are we." The three of them had dubbed their plane _Hummingbird_ for her distinct constant low humming sound in the air, and her quick movements and reactions to the controls. Dare hoped they were as hard to catch. "Four minutes. Everyone in position."

Gray and Fitzgibbons nodded and vanished into the back of the aircraft again. He heard them strapping in as safety belts clicked.

They were flying in under radio silence, to avoid letting anyone on the ground pick up chatter from the air. The last thing they needed was to give the enemy any clue of what was coming. Everyone had left their staging points timed to hit their targets within a five-minute window. It gave them all the most time to make their escape, and by heading back out in different directions, make themselves less of a target and harder to track. That meant staying on their assigned headings was critical however, to avoid running into the others up here with him in the dark.

After his first combat experience in Drachma down on the ground months before, this felt entirely different. For one thing, there was no advancing enemy army. For another, if Dare did his job right, they were going to destroy a lot of property, and probably kill quite a few people in the process. At least he didn't have one of the targets with a much smaller error margin in the territory surrounding them. Some of the safe-houses that were Savahin's potential positions were right in Petrayevka itself. There were almost certain to be a few civilian casualties, even if they struck their target very precisely.

"Two minutes."

On the ground below, in the distance, he could see specks of light glowing up from the snow-blanketed countryside. At the moment, that meant they were right on target. Angling carefully, he began to circle around towards his assigned approach vector. As he did so, he could see more of the ground below. There was a town not far from the airfield, but it was outside the range of damage from the bombs they were about to drop. It was late enough in the night that he didn't see any specs of light from moving vehicles on the roads, and a lot of houses were dark. The ideal time for an attack had to be late enough that even Savahin and his men had likely gone to where-ever they planned to spend the rest of the night. There was no reason to expect them.

"One minute."

Dare's specified target was the airfield itself, and he was the second plane in order of approach and drop. The first would be hitting the hanger that was supposed to contain the planes. Then the Hummingbird's team would strike, then the third would hit the factory, and the fourth would come in and clean-up with a hit wherever it seemed the most necessary, or in case someone else completely missed.

As he began to line up his approach, Dare could now see the first plane—the _Eclipse_ its team had named it—right in front of him, and slightly lower, clearly visible from above thanks to the moonlight glinting off the fuselage and wings. "Eclipse in sight. Following her in."

Behind him, he heard metal clank. "Bomb one in place," Fitzgibbons confirmed. "Opening undercarriage door."

Ahead of him, Eclipse began her dive.

More clanking, and for a minute the world became much louder and colder, then a clank again. "Bomb carriage lowered and in place." Fitzgibbon's voice was barely audible over the noise.

Dare counted to thirty, and just as he saw Eclipse pull up at the point of release, he began his own dive. As long as they timed it correctly, everyone would hit within a two-minute window and be out of the way of the explosions of each other's drops.

The altimeter spun and Dare was pressed back tight against his seat as the plane dove as sharply as he dared, plummeting earthward with gaining momentum. Below him he saw the explosive fire-blossom of Eclipse's drop erupt heavenward, and a building spewed wreckage. In the light of the inferno, he saw a small number of human figures begin to swarm out of another building like ants. That was when he saw too, that some shadows of aircraft were on the runway and not inside.

"Release on my mark!" he shouted back as they fell. There wasn't time to think, to strategize, to plan. They were coming in, he was concerned with preparing to pull up at the right moment, to not go too steep. The ground rushed at him as if it were a hand that threatened to smash his face—

—"Mark!" he shouted as he yanked back on the stick, pulling steadily and sharply as they skimmed the tops of trees, then they were over the runway, and then moving up and away. Dare shot for the stars.

Behind him he heard another woosh and felt the plane jolt as the shockwave from the bomb shoved into them from behind, followed by the clank of the closing door. He heard a whoop from Fitzgibbons.

Dare realized he was sweating, and his hands were cramping from how tightly he clenched the stick. His stomach was rolling. They continued to gain altitude until they reached near their original cruising height, and only then did he pull around for another look. They had the second bomb if they needed to do another run.

In that time, the third plane—dubbed _Redhawk—_ had dropped the third bomb, and _Sky Cat_ the fourth. One of them had gone a little awry, lighting part of the main building on fire along with the woods on the nearby hillside. Another had solidly hit that mark, and everything was in flames except a portion of the airstrip.  
An airstrip that still had a handful of planes on it. Planes towards which people were running.

That was when the first of them broke air silence. _:Eclipse to Squadron,:_ Eclipse's pilot shouted in Drachman. _:We're about to have company.:_

That had been another key reason for radio silence, the fact that they didn't want to make it obvious they were Amestrian. Not that Dare suspected they would be able to keep up the ruse forever, but they had been forced to memorize key phrases, to keep the men on the ground guessing as long as possible.

 _:Hummingbird to Eclipse. Do we need to make a second round?:_

 _:This is Eclipse. Sky Cat and us will make another dive to clear take it down to dirt. Hummingbird and Redhawk, keep any Upstarts off our tales.:_

 _:Roger, Eclipse.:_

Dare heard the other pilots confirm as well, and then focused on circling, hoping that they managed to complete a second dive before the Drachman pilots managed to get clear, but he doubted they would be that fortunate.

 _Eclipse_ was already diving, with _Sky Cat_ right behind.  
The Drachman planes were picking up speed, first one, then another. In the flame and smoke it became harder to see the enemy, until first one shot up into the night, then another.

The remaining airfield exploded again, and one more time, and Dare saw other aircraft blow apart for a brief second before he banked, coming around to locate the ones that were in the air. How many were there?

 _:What's the count?:_ Dare asked.

 _:Three—no, four,:_ came a reply from Redhawk.

Lovely, one for each of them. Or after each of them, depending on how you looked at it. "Keep strapped in back there!" Dare shouted as they came around and dove after the nearest Drachman fighter. It was a smaller, faster plane, and he was going to need all the advantage he could get. "And if anything shoots at us from behind, shoot back!"

Scene break scene break scene break

From their hideout, it was possible to see Petrayevka in the far distance, if a person chose to use binoculars. It was also possible to see the battlefield between the mountains and the city. Niki had to admit, Gavril had chosen an excellent location for keeping watch on events when he wasn't safe right down in them.

The fighting had died down not long after dark, and while Niki had been able to wind down enough to eat dinner, even with the news on, Gavril had seemed agitated, though he wouldn't specify a reason behind current events. Still, Niki noticed him regularly going to the window and looking out towards the city.

"What are you expecting?" he finally asked the other man the tenth time he paused by the windows, and stared out into the night. It was late, but neither of them were tired enough to sleep.

Gavril flinched, then eyed him considering for several seconds. "Let's just say that neither the line here, nor the one your father has drawn on the Eastern escarpment are our only plans in action." He glanced back at the television, which was still on the standard news broadcasting station, even though it was late enough that all that was on was late night programming. If anything big happened in the city, and was reported, then it might show up as an emergency report, but Niki wouldn't count on it. It would have to be _momentous._

"And staring out the window is something that will actually let you see something happen, or just a habit tonight?"

"I will admit, I was hoping we might be able to see something from here, even though the chances are slim," Gavril admitted. "Still, if it succeeds trust me, we'll hear about it."

Niki looked out the window, understanding now why Gavril had chosen to turn off most of the lights in the room. With the television facing away from the windows, it was possible to see most of the way across the valley with an unimpeded view and minimal reflections on the glass. The glow of the city rose pink and soft out of the distance, as it always did. Petrayevka was huge, but it was also miles away. What would they possibly see?

The answer came in the form of a plume that sprang up so suddenly he thought he'd seen a flash of light. He blinked, and it was gone, but then it roared bigger. Even though it was a tiny speck on the horizon, he thought he saw a thin rising line.

Gavril was looking through his binoculars. "There." He sounded very satisfied, but he didn't stop looking.

Niki cursed softly. "What is it? Tell me."

"Fire," Gavril replied simply. "And we're not done yet. Here."

Niki took the offered binoculars and looked towards the speck. Even with the assistance it was a small plume in the distance, smaller than a kitchen match across a room, but it was a vibrant orange flicker with dark boiling smoke. He tried to figure out roughly where in the city it was. Then just beyond it, another flash, and more smoke, and rising flames. "What are the targets? Are those planted explosives?"

"The targets are Savahin's likely safe houses," Gavril told him. "I can't tell you where we got that intelligence, but if it's right, tomorrow is going to be a very different day."

Niki inhaled sharply. Savahin's secret hideouts. He would have given his eye-teeth to know where that information had come from, though he suspected that the trip Mihalov had made with Sara Heimler might have had something to do with it. Not that he had any evidence, but the woman was Ted Elric's aunt, and that family seemed to be really good at making the unexpected happen. "How many?"

"Six. If we're lucky he's actually in one of them."

Niki kept looking, scanning the horizon of the city. There was a third, then a fourth. "They're going up!" Reluctantly, he gave back the binoculars, and continued squinting across the distance with his own eyes.

"Five… and…six," Gavril's tone was eager with anticipation. "All in different parts of the city. One of them is outside the limits technically. Three are in neighborhoods with large estates. The last two are in the business district."

"You're not going to be too popular if people know you ordered some kind of strike and civilians died."

"I am all too aware," Gavril nodded. "That's why I didn't order it, and those people out there, aren't my men."

"Then who—"

"Don't ask. I can't tell you, and as long as you don't know, you're better off. I only know because I got a tip-off to keep an eye out tonight. It's not my doing, or the General's, and that's all you need to know."

Niki bit his tongue to keep from asking the questions he was dying to have answered. If it wasn't their doing, and he only knew about it by the grace of someone else involved, who was it? Was there a third party? Was it unnamed resistance intelligence? Or was it one of their allies working on their behalf? "Is there anything else I _should_ know?" he finally asked. Was _this_ what his cryptic message to his father had meant, even if it wasn't something his father had ordered?

"Only to be ready to be as sincerely shocked about whatever happens tomorrow as you were this evening." Gavril finally removed the binoculars from his face. "Let's turn up the television. I expect we'll be getting an emergency news broadcast at any moment."

Of that, Niki had little doubt. His biggest concern now, was how much of the city was going to burn for an attempt on Savahin's life?

Scene break scene break scene break

Being in the middle of a fire-fight in midair was a whole new type of terrifying exhilaration. Dare had learned in a very short period exactly how tight _Hummingbird_ could turn, how steep she could dive, and how fast she could climb without piling into the ground, which he had narrowly avoided twice. The sounds of rushing air, mechanical stress, and rapid bullet-fire from the front and back of his aircraft and the others in the air around them as they made passes at each other, the Amestrian aircraft and the Drachman aircraft fighting to be the planes doing the chasing and not the other way around.

On the flight in, Dare had been grateful for the lack of cloud cover. Now, he would have given almost anything for a few clouds to duck through or hide inside. A nice light snowstorm to lose them in and head for the rendezvous point.

He veered sharply, narrowly avoiding a Drachma fighter as it shot past him at a steep angle downwards.

Behind him somewhere in the aircraft he heard a sharp think, and a grunt and a growl of pain. "Everything all right back there?" Roll around, bank upward, climb.

"Loose wrench in the cabin," Fitzgibbons shouted back. "Keep flying!"

To his left a huge explosion blossomed and the plane shuddered as a Drachman plane exploded. Moment's later Sky Cat shot through the air space. Dare angled them away.

In the dark, only the sparkling ground and the flames of the burning airfield told them up from down, and it proved to be crucial as Dare avoided another strafing run from one of the Drachman planes. The shots plunked against the fuselage, and cracked the windshield, though the thick glass didn't break.

He heard Fitsgibbons' rear gun in the back, taking shots at the plane on their tail.  
Another explosion somewhere off to their right. This time Dare banked toward it, skirting the smoke to try and shake the enemy behind them.

 _:Redhawk down!:_ the pilot of _Sky Cat_ called.

Dare bit off a curse, and pulled sharply up. The nose of the plane nearly stood on edge as it shot upward, and the plane behind them shot past. Dare hauled her over as tightly as he dared, and cut back around. The moment he was behind it he hit his own guns, sending a spray of bullets into the night.

Fire bloomed in front of him. "Brace yourselves!" was all he had time to shout before they were shooting right through the fire and smoke of the crashing plane. _Hummingbird_ shuddered, but came through the other side.

"We need to drop the other bomb," Fitzgibbons called up again as they leveled out. "If they hit us while we're carrying it we're done for!"

A very good point. Dare checked their location and banked thirty degrees, heading back towards the airfields. If they were going to drop it than the intended target was best.

The moment's peace was all they had. He had barely lined up for the run when he heard a barrage of fire behind, and _Hummingbird_ shuttered, the left engine making a horrible whining. It was followed by colorful cursing from Gray.

They were already in the dive. Dare swallowed bile and went for it. "Closing fast. On my mark, Fitzgibbons!"

"Doors open. Bomb in place!"

"Who the hell's on tail gun?"

"I am!" "She is!" came the calls from the back.

Dare hoped the engineer was a decent shot.

The airfields and the factory were engulfed. The few people Dare could see as they dove had brought out a fire truck and were attempting to hose down the couple of planes still on the end of the strip with no way to take off. The buildings were a lost cause.

 _We can't leave them anything to come after us with._

Five-thousand feet.

Four-thousand.

Three-thousand.

"Mark."

"Bombs away!"

Dare hauled back, praying to anyone's gods who might listen that the hit engine had enough left in it not to fail, or they'd be going down into that inferno themselves.

For a moment it felt like they'd accelerated too far too fast, and then the nose evened out, and they zipped past the target, over the black-and-white snow crusted forests, and then up, once more, the struggling engine going from a whine to cracks, sputters, and other noises that he didn't want to contemplate.

But it hadn't failed yet. "Anyone still on our tail?"

"Not at the moment. They didn't follow us all the way down," Gray announced.

Probably thought they were nuts. They _were_ pretty insane.

"Doors closed."

Dare wanted to wet himself. He swallowed, and wished he had water available, to at least wet his dry mouth. Instead he focused on getting them back up to altitude as fast as possible, and away from the target. If they had to make another dive like that, he didn't think _Hummingbird_ would take it. He wasn't even sure right now she'd get them back to where they'd started. He hoped they weren't leaking fuel.

 _:Hummingbird to Squadron. What's your status?:_

 _:Redhawk is gone,:_ came from _Eclipse. :I've got Sky Cat covering my wing. We're chasing the last one now.:_

 _:We've got engine damage,:_ Dare informed them.

 _:Pull out, Hummingbird. Make it back while you're still airborne. We'll head out when we're done here.:_

Dare wasn't about to argue. For one thing, the pilot of _Eclipse_ outranked him. _:Heading home, Eclipse. Fly safe.:_

He angled the plane north. It would be best to put a few miles behind them before turning west. It would make it harder for anyone to track them back to their cargo plane. Dare just hoped they could make it. "Gray, any assessment on that damage?"

"Sounds like she's still running for now," Gray replied. "Maybe we lost a few pieces, but we're not going down. There's not smoke streaming out past the back anymore at least, though it looks like we're leaking fuel."

Shit. "Do we have enough to get back?"

"How creative are you at extending mileage?"

"I don't know," Dare admitted. It had never come up before. "I guess we're about to find out."

Fitzgibbons looked green as he poked his head into the cockpit. "You are a madman."

"Hey, we're alive aren't we?" Dare asked, as he looked at his instruments and adjusted their heading, and climbed as high as he dared, before settling in at a cruising altitude.

"When we get back, and my stomach isn't inside out, you owe me a drink. A lot of drinks," Fitzgibbons grumbled.

Dare chuckled, feeling a little maniacal as the adrenaline started to drop. They were alive, somehow. He just hoped the others were doing all right without them. "Deal." While he didn't generally imbibe alcohol much, right now he could use a drink or three himself. "What about you, Gray?"

"Ask me when we get back alive," Gray retorted from the back. "Depending on how much I have to patch her up, you may owe me a winery."

* * *

It was almost like a weird, sort-of, not-quite a date, Franz thought, as he sat with Sara at Headquarters, listening to the incoming intelligence reports in the room where the intelligence team night-shift scanned all television and radio frequencies for information.

James and Krista knew not to expect them home until late, though Franz had not told them how late. Now, it was past eleven, and they were picking up scattered chatter and reports. They had managed to get the signal out of the television station in Petrayevka itself, and the news was, needless to say, fascinating, as they live-covered mass destruction and fires in six locations within the city.

Their makeshift meal of leftover cabbage soup from the mess hall might not be gourmet, but at least it was food, and it wasn't garbage. More importantly to him, they were eating together, watching the plan unfold, and Sara wasn't still off in the wilds of Drachma. She was home again, where she should be, and where he intended for her to stay.

Her fingers interlaced loosely with his as they watched the broadcast on one of the many tiny screens. The rest were muted so they weren't trying to fight through the noise of multiple people talking.

So far, no one had mentioned the airfield. The reports in Petrayevka were all on the teams struggling to fight the fires that had engulfed several buildings. Some had spread to nearby locations, though the thick wet snow was helping to control it. Still, the business district in particular, where buildings were lined up right against each other, was taking severe damage.

:-still aren't sure as to the immediate cause of these fires,: the newscaster was saying in a harried tone. At this hour, she looked as if she had been dragged out of bed to cover one of these locations. : Conflicting reports include arsonists, and others claiming the fire rained down from the sky. Others still believe that the source was explosives dropped from aircraft. All possibilities are being investigated, but the focus is on public safety, and determining why these particular targets were chosen.:

"The tone of that conversation is going to change when they figure it out," Sara commented softly. "I just hope it turns out better than when Valhov died."

Franz tightened his grip on her fingers. He had shot the man out of anger, and had hoped later that it would improve the situation, but the snake had proved to be a hydra. Savahin had been far worse. If they got him tonight, then whatever the outcome, it would be worth the risk. Whoever replaced him, if someone tried to step up, would be in a very tight spot, and hopefully more willing to negotiate. If they were very lucky, Savahin and several of his associates were dead, and there was no one to take his place. If they had missed him… well, no one was really any _worse_ off, except for them personally. Franz had made certain to set it up very carefully. The only person who could be blamed for making this call was himself; well, himself and Sara. The few others who had known anything at all of what was coming would still have plausible deniability. Many could just honestly say they had just been following orders.

Except them, and who knew how things would land when it all came out. Franz knew some members of the Assembly, and some in the Military, would be furious that Franz had used Amestrian resources to get so directly involved in a strike on Drachman territory. The civilian destruction was a calculated cost. Others would probably laud him for it. There were plenty of war dogs in the military who wanted a return to Amestris' military-strong glory days. He'd heard whispers of folks who wanted them to use this chance to take some of the land north of the border for Amestris.

He just wished he knew which group had the most public support, and the most political support, at the moment. At least within the Assembly. He had a pretty good idea of which Generals would support his actions in this, and he thought it would be enough. After all, something the Assembly seemed to forget often, was that while he, and Rehnquist, and Breda, had cooperated with them most of the time, the Military was still separate from the civilian government. As much authority as Roy Mustang had returned to them to run everyday matters in the country, the Assembly did not _control_ the Military, or determine how it was run.

While this whole scheme might well be a career-ending move, Franz wasn't about to give it up without a fight. He wondered, in passing, if Roy Mustang would have been proud of him.


	75. Chapter 75

**February 3** **rd** **, 1991**

The glow of dawn was behind them. In front of him, Dare's instruments did not paint a pretty picture. They were sitting almost entirely on empty on fuel, and the one engine was starting to sound more like a horse with a hacking cough. Over-night they had made their way slowly back towards the rendezvous point, but he had to admit, he didn't think they were going to make it. "We're going to have to put down to refuel and make repairs," he finally announced to the rest of the team.

"It's not that much farther," Fitzgibbons grumbled, though he sounded concerned. "Are you sure we can't eke out that last few miles?"

"I can bring us down under control, or we can crash in another ten minutes."

"Landing it is!" Fitzgibbons agreed. "We could all use a little sleep anyway."

"It will give me time to get out and see about making real repairs," Gray agreed. "We can take turns catching naps and eat something. Can you raise them on radio, let them know we're landing?" she asked.

"I've tried twice, and haven't had any luck yet," Dare admitted. He was reluctant to try too often. They still weren't supposed to be here, and the more he tried, the more likely they were to be discovered. If any of those enemy planes had escaped or gotten off the ground after and tried to come after them, they would be sitting targets on the ground. "I'll try one more time after we land." He scanned the ground below looking for a flat stretch of field or road he could put down on. With all the snow, it was hard to tell what was flat and what wasn't, and it needed to be somewhere away from civilization, no matter how rural.

A glint of something caught his eye, and he saw it. A decent sized lake, long and thickly iced, still covered with a decent layer of more wind-blown snow. "There's our landing zone."

"Are you crazy?" Fitzgibbons asked, glancing out the window. "You want to land on water?"

"The ice this far north is supposed to be several feet thick by now," Dare pointed out. "It's guaranteed to be the flattest, clearest area for miles, and it's long enough."

"Do it," Gray said simply. "We're going down one way or another. Let's do it of our own free will."

Dare brought the plane around and lined up on the lake. In the end, the landing proved to be almost anti-climactic. The frozen lake was rougher than a frozen rink maintained by people would be, and had better traction than he had anticipated. They came to a slow stop well short of the end of the lake. "You can breathe now," he called into the back, where both of the others had retreated to strap in during landing.

"Breathe? I was almost hyperventilating when we first touched down," Fitzgibbons argued, though he didn't sound particularly rattled. Dare had learned early the man liked to complain. "What kind of a landing do you call that?"

"A good one. We're down." Dare turned them, and brought the plane to a stop at the edge of the lake, near tree cover. "All right. Let's take a few minutes to rest and refuel ourselves, then see to _Hummingbird._ I'll try to raise the others on the radio."

"I'll break out rations." Fitzgibbons headed into the back.

Dare's third attempt to reach the supply plane and team waiting for them was also a bust. After several minutes he gave up trying and left the cockpit to see how things were going.

Fitzgibbons and Gray had pulled out the emergency rations, and a couple of canteens of water. Dare joined them, taking his portion with gratitude and wolfing it down. It wasn't gourmet cooking, but it took the edge of his hunger and thirst.

As soon as they were finished, they split up duties. While Dare and Fitzgibbons hauled out the back-up fuel and siphoned it into the tank, Gray got her tools and went to look at the engine.

The tank was full before they saw her again, so they followed her tracks to find her scrambled up the snow and on top of the wing, working at the engine from an open panel. "How's she look?" Dare called up.

"Like a burnt holiday goose," Gray replied. "We got lucky. I was able to replace the busted section of fuel line, so at least we won't be leaking combustibles anymore, and I've got a decent amount of what's in there wiped out. There are still a few panels I need to hammer some dents in the compressor and the fan, and repair a couple of fan blades. It won't be pretty, but it should get us home, in time."

"Do whatever you need to," Dare assured her. "If we can be helpful, just tell us how. If not, we'll keep watch and keep out of the way."

"Right now, I need someone to bring me the welder."

"On it!" Fitzgibbons vanished, coming back only a minute later with the requested equipment. "Anything else?"

"Not for a bit."

"Then it's you and me." Fitzgibbons looked at Dare critically. "I'll take first watch. You catch a nap, Closson. I'll wake you in a couple of hours, and we can swap off. Won't be any good to us if you're too cross-eyed to fly," he stalled any of Dare's possible objections.

Given how long he had been staring out into the night, trying to keep them in the air, Dare was not inclined to argue. With a nod of assessment, he paused only long enough to relieve himself behind a tree—a frigid and all together unpleasant experience—and then found a corner inside to curl up in. In moments, he was out cold.

* * *

"Some year, I'd like the news on my birthday to be absolutely uninteresting," Edward grumbled from his warm, comfortable couch, where he sat with his steaming hot cup of coffee and a pile of fresh sweet sticky buns. On the floor, two mountains of white fur were dozing lazily by his feet, and one of the cats had determined its favorite place to be this morning was purring behind his head on the back of the couch. Ed might have complained, except that all the heat the animals felt good added to the warmth provided by his thick, fluffy red house robe, and eased his aching joints.

Winry leaned in from her place beside him long enough to kiss his cheek. "Ninety-two years and you've never yet managed to have a boring birthday. Maybe they should do some correlation research to see how much of that is your fault."

"At least they can't blame chaos in Drachma on us," Alphonse snickered from his favorite recliner, in which he sat ensconced, with his own plate of sticky buns and the rest of the cats in the house.

Ed wished he was convinced, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still responsible for some of it. If nothing else, they had set things in motions decades ago when they changed how State Alchemists were trained, and the mindset they fostered. He knew they had now spread that purposefully back in Drachma, and he just hoped that Gavril Mihalov could be trusted to not let Drachma begin to use their new alchemists as they had before, or how Amestris had once upon a time.

"Shush, they're bringing Gloria and Alexei on again this morning," Elicia interrupted them as she sat back down in the other chair with a fresh cup of tea.

Everyone's attention returned to the television as Gloria's face appeared on the screen. Then the camera cut back out to a wider shot of Gloria, Alexei, and the news anchor, Vivien Moser, who had just been introducing the morning news that overnight there had been drama in Petrayevka.

"With us again this morning, International Correspondents Gloria Fischer-Deviatovski, and Alexei Deviatovski, recently returned from the Drachman war front, where last night, six locations within the city of Petrayevka and, we are just hearing this morning, an installation north of the city, went up in flames."

"What?" Ed straightened up, the last of his morning drowsiness gone. Seven attacks in one night?

"In a very short period of time. Five minutes as I understand it," Gloria nodded. "For the fires in the city."

"The report from the north says they were attacked, and engaged in combat," Moser went on. "Though who attacked them, or the city, has yet to have been identified. Rumors are flying, but initial reports suggest that there are no signs on the ground of arsonists."

Of course, there wouldn't be signs of arsonists on the ground, Ed realized. The most likely direction to hit points deep within the walls of Petrayevka would be from the air.

"No one has publicly taken responsibility for the attacks, and the city is in chaos. No word yet from Savahin, or any other government officials, regarding the situation. Some people believe that's because they are focused entirely on the fires and an investigation into the culprits. What do you think?"

"That's possible," Alexei spoke up. He looked skeptical. "What's more likely is no one will make a public appearance until they have someone to blame for it, whether or not it's the real culprit. It's a bit surprising actually that no one has come out and accused Mihalov or Marskaya of master mining the plan. I suspect it's only a matter of time until they do, Vivien. Unless, of course, Savahin was the target."

"What makes you think that?" Moser jumped on the statement eagerly.

"The locations hit," he continued.

Gloria nodded. "Three of the locations are in high income neighborhoods, mostly full of the estates of old nobles, and international businessmen. Not unlike the one where they kept Sara Heimler imprisoned before her rescue by Amestrian Intelligence. Those old houses are warrens of hiding places. If we were able to look up the specific houses, we would probably find they belong to Zinovek party members, or converts to the cause. Other targets in the business district could be the offices or supply warehouses of other backers. After Mihalov's statements yesterday and offer of surrender, a paranoid megalomaniac like Savahin would be expecting something."

"Just not necessarily _this_ something," Alexei added.

Moser nodded. "What do you say to the rumors that the method of destruction came from the air?"

"I'd say anything's possible," Alexei continued without missing a beat. "We know that Drachma has created aircraft in the past. There's no reason our allies might not have it now."

"Except that they don't," Edward muttered aloud.

The room around him had gone very quiet.

"They could have used balloons, like Amestris experimented with decades ago," Gloria brought up the idea quickly, "Or even used the new Western Drachman alchemists to set the fires, or launch projectiles from the air with extra force and accuracy."

"Smart girl," Alphonse commented.

"She's diverting the conversation," Ed pointed out. "They were just in Drachma. They're back, and Sara and the other alchemists are back. If everyone's been pulled out, it's a distraction." He had a cold, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. One that quickly turned to anger. "Damn it, Franz."

"Edward, I know what it looks like," Winry warned, her tone sharp-edged even as she tried to be calming. "But let's not jump to conclusions."

"I'm not jumping, I've already gotten there." Ed stood up quickly, startling the animals as his temper flared. "I spent _decades_ hiding the technological information to create planes. Roy buried it so deep in in his oldest, most classified files because we knew what a Pandora's Box it would be to let it out into the world."

"A what?" Elicia asked.

"Old saying," Alphonse supplied. "I'll explain it later."

"And we built them," Winry finished Ed's thought. "Supply planes with defensive capabilities and the ability to drop supplies to allies from altitude without having to land."

Supply doors that would drop bombs just as well as they dropped crates of food and medicine. " _This_ is why Franz demanded we push up the production timeline. It's also why he sent us home. To keep us out of the way, because he knew we wouldn't go along with it if he told us what he was planning!"

"Or at least that you wouldn't," Alphonse concurred. His brother looked angry, but also pensive. "It does make sense though, why they had the new long-range fuel to test. They wouldn't have loaded armaments or attached the apparatus until we'd gone."

"Maybe…he was protecting you."

That last shocked Ed so much his neck cracked as his head spun to look at Elicia.

She shrugged. "You didn't know. You weren't there. Not everyone even knows the three of you worked on this project, and members of the military won't breathe a word. If your names aren't attached to the project, you can't be blamed for it either."

"Or used against it," Alphonse added. "Let's face it. Anything our names are on is going to be highly visible, and not _necessarily_ going to get a rousing stamp of approval, especially not from the Assembly."

"You do have a long history of being problematic." Winry smiled as she said it.

All logical reasons, none of which assuaged Ed's feelings of having been used and betrayed. "When I get done with him, we may be short one son-in-law." He turned and headed for the phone, stuffing his last sticky bun in his mouth as he went.

Winry's next comment caught him up short. "What if it was Sara's idea?"

He didn't quite trip, but he did hesitate. Would his daughter have done such a thing?

 _Yes,_ the word came unpleasant and unbidden. She might well have. "Well, we're about to find out." He picked up the receiver and dialed, starting with Franz's direct number in the President's office. At this hour of the morning, he would be shocked if Franz was at home.  
"Heimler speaking." Franz' voice greeted him.

"You used me." Edward seethed. "Drachma, all of those explosions. That's not Drachmans. It's Amestrian tech and Amestrian pilots. What happened to pulling Amestrians _out_ and letting Drachma handle this part of its own business?"

A moment's pause. "Always one to cut right to the chase, aren't you?" He sounded tired, and resigned. "I'm sorry, Edward, but I can't tell you. Happy birthday, by the way."

"You can't—now listen here!" Ed sputtered. "We helped design them, build them, and train the pilots flying them! You owe me an explanation."

"Actually, I don't. That's classified information and you don't have the clearance, Edward." There was steel in those words. "Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you anything over a phone line. Nothing is guaranteed to be fully secure and you know that. Now, if you care about Amestris and your family, you will get off the phone and keep your mouth _shut_."

It had been a very long time since someone had given him that bold of a command. "Is that an order, Mr. President?"

"No, because as we've established, you're not under my command. Consider it strongly worded advice. Good morning." The call ended.

For several seconds Ed stared at the receiver, at a rare loss for words and with nowhere productive to vent his frustration.

"What did he say?" Alphonse finally asked.

"Nothing," Ed replied, hanging up the phone. "At least, nothing that couldn't be said over an insecure phone line." He also hadn't denied a word of Ed's accusations. "He said we don't have the clearance and to keep our mouths shut. Okay, so he said me specifically," he acknowledged, "But I suspect that means all of us."

"Based on the news, the public doesn't seem to have any idea yet," Winry pointed out. "It's possible, however unlikely, that they won't figure it out, or that Franz and Sara have a particular plan of action. We don't know the details, and we don't want to make the situation worse."

Ed hated being old enough for logic and maturity. A good old-fashioned temper tantrum would have felt incredibly good right now. "I don't see how this can possibly stay secret, especially not from the rest of the military, or the Assembly. Eventually the press will put enough together and everyone will know that Amestrian planes bombed Drachma's capitol city."

"Depending on who's in power, that may not be the disaster it sounds like," Elicia suggested calmly.

"We won't know who that is until we know if Savahin's still alive," Alphonse pointed out.

Too many possibilities to place a bet on what was going to happen next. Franz was right. The best thing Edward and the others could do was sit tight and wait for now. If Savahin was dead, this might be the best ending the civil war in Drachma could have hoped for. It still did not assuage his feeling that he had been taken advantage of and used to make it happen. The age of aircraft had dawned in Amestris, despite his and Roy's concerted efforts to delay it for as long as possible. It would be up to the younger generations to figure out how to deal with it.

"Ed?" Winry had joined him, her expression concerned as she put an arm around him.

He sighed. "Just angry. "I feel like I should have known this was what would happen. The last thing the world needs is a Great War. We've been through enough without the ability to destroy people from the skies."

"Then we'll just have to hope we're smarter than that." Alphonse looked concerned, but also resigned. "All _we_ can do now is be voices of caution and wisdom."

Ed cracked a smile even though he didn't quite feel it. "If I'm a voice of caution and wisdom in a new age, then we're all doomed."

"That is probably true," Winry agreed. "Come on, let's finish breakfast and see what happens."

"That sounds good." Fresh-made breakfasts were not to be wasted. Especially not after the effort that had been put into making them. Ed allowed himself to follow Winry back to the couch. He would wait, and bide his time, and see what happened, but if this blew up in Franz's face, he would let his son-in-law burn if he had to in order to pull his daughter out of the fire.

Ed hoped it didn't come to that.

* * *

It was some of the hardest waiting Gavril had done in a long time, but at least he wasn't bleeding to death internally, so there was that. The smartest thing to do right now was to keep quiet and low, and not try to make any statements taking credit—or blame—for what had just befallen Petrayevka. Let the enemy presume what they would for now. Gavril would say nothing until he knew whether or not Savahin was dead.

So, they waited and watched. Over night the firefighters of Petrayevka had managed to contain all of the fires within in the city, and as they had moved into morning, put out most of them. The news covered all of it; sending reporters out on the scene to all six locations and, even better, by late morning they had a solid report that the new Zinovek airfield north of the city, and all of its aircraft, had been decimated. That report brought the confirmation he had been expecting; reports from the survivors that enemy planes had dropped multiple bombs on the factory, hanger, and fields, destroying most of the planes on the ground, and fighting the others in a dramatic display of aerial combat in the middle of the night. They were certain some of the enemy fighters had gone down, but with all the snow they had not yet managed to truck out and locate them.

Within short order every one of the fires in the city was attributed to aerial strikes, since it fit the pattern of destruction, and why they were finding no evidence of arson or tampering on the ground. Each of those locations had blown up, and one of them _was_ Savahin's official residence. Under other circumstances, Gavril would have expected a panic from people with two armies practically on their doorstep and their leader dead. Instead there seemed to be more confusion, as those on the air tried not to sound like they hoped he was dead, in case he wasn't, but there was a definite air of waiting.

Finally, news of a press conference from the Capitol was announced for noon.

:That's what we're waiting for,: Gavril nodded. No one offered to place bets on whether or not Savahin had been killed. Of course, they were all gambling their lives on siding against the man and his government, so perhaps they didn't feel the need to wager anything more. Gavril, Niki Marskaya, and the others who had come with him all sat in the room with the television, watching in anticipation. Gavril had dressed to be prepared to make a speech on camera, to be ready for whenever the right moment presented itself.

Finally, the news shifted over to live coverage at the Capitol, the cameras all angled up at the balcony from which Chairmen and Emperors had spoken for hundreds of years. _Who_ ran the government, and who made up its various parts, and what their powers were, had varied greatly throughout Drachman history, but the building had stood the test of time to outlast them all.

At last, three men appeared, all in suits, looking weary and resigned. Gavril recognized two of them. The one in front, looking worn, was Talvor Galatin, a long-standing representative who had somehow survived this long. Gavril wondered what favors and information he had traded in to keep his position, or how long he had been a Zinovek without Gavril knowing. They had served on a couple of committees together. He would not have expected of the man the actions detailed in Valhov's extensive files.

The other was Sars Ternev, a junior member of the government before the coup; quiet, agreeable, and generally unassuming. Valhov's files had little information on him, so Gavril suspected he was one of Savahin's recruits.

It was Galatin who took the podium. :Citizens of Drachma,: he began, :This morning I bring sobering news; Genn Savahin is dead from injuries sustained last night in one of the fires. He passed this morning. Our glorious revolution is done. We, his closest confidants and seconds, wish to express our regret that we cannot continue what was begun. The costs have been too high. If you are listening, Gavril Mihalov, or you, General Marskaya, we hope that you will let us know if the offer you extended so very recently is still on the table. We would like to discuss terms of truce and surrender. The main line to the Chairman's office will be supervised and awaiting your response and terms. Thank you." That was it. A moment's silence, and then the square below erupted in shouts, some angry, some of joy, and still others reporters shouting questions at the three men above them.

:That, I believe, is my cue.: Gavril refrained from smiling. Savahin was dead, and with him the momentum of his political movement. Drachma was still broken, fractured possibly beyond repair, but now at least, there was hope for resolution, reform, and eventual peace. It was possible that three Drachmas, united but with more independence, would be better than one giant Drachma. Only time would tell. First, he needed to secure this truce. He stood and walked to the phone, though he knew that they would not immediately be in the office. He waited several minutes, listening to the shocked commentary on the television, before dialing the familiar number that had once belonged to his uncle.

It only rang once. :Mihalov, is that you?:

:Hello Talvor,: Gavril replied. :Yes, it's me. I got your message and am calling to give you the terms of your surrender.:

:Don't you mean negotiate the terms?:

:How far do you want to press this?: Gavril asked calmly. He had the upper hand at the moment, however slight it might be, and he wasn't about to give an inch. :Agree to my terms, and no one else has to die.:

:I'm listening.:

:You, and everyone with any connection to any decision made under Savahin, will present yourselves for surrender, with the immediate return of the government back to any remaining officials from the rightful government as are still living and wish to return. Those currently imprisoned are to be released _today._ If you sent them West, don't worry, we've already freed those. They've been fighting you.: He let that sink in for a moment before continuing. :Your Commanding officers will meet with mine here in the North, and down South, and with Marskaya's, within the hour to surrender. Your surrender to me will happen _outside_ the walls of Petrayevka at five-o'clock this evening. Bring a news crew. I will be.:

:Who takes control of the government without a Chairman?: Galatin asked skeptically. :You?:

:That was never my plan and you know it,: Gavril retorted. He had made that plain from the start. :I'm provisionally in charge of Western Drachma, which has declared itself a separate country. I can hardly lead both. No. Once we get through the surrender, a third person will be chosen by a vote of the remaining representatives to serve as a provisional Chairman and they, Marskaya, and I will temporarily lead the government during a convention to put into power a new governing body, or three, with alliances in place, that will work for all of the citizens of Drachma. At that time, proper elections will be held to fill all relevant positions. None of the three of us will automatically retain any power.:

:Even if they should vote in one of us?:

:Even so, should that happen,: Gavril acknowledged. It seemed highly unlikely, but obviously much stranger things had happened in Drachman politics. :There will be trials as called for by the representative body, but no executions. I think you'll find Western Drachma has been revolutionizing the prison system.: _You might even like it there._

:We agree to your terms, Mihalov. We will meet you at the appointed time and location with all of your conditions met.:

:Agreed and done.: Now they just had to follow through. :You will not be able to reach me at this number, since I will not be at this location once we hang up from this call. I will, however, have people monitoring open transmissions in case you need to get a hold of me.: No secrets. :I will see you then.: He hung up, and turned around to find most of the room watching him with admiration. :We will need to move out. Bring the radio team, I need to broadcast a formal message of the terms as soon as possible. Once it's done, it will need to be repeated as far and often as possible. If it's public, backing out becomes that much harder. Especially if the people believe that they are finally going to live in peace.:

Niki Marskaya in particular was grinning broadly. :We'll get right on it, Sir.:

* * *

Tore was having a busy yet distracted day in the office. With the news that the Drachman conflict was ostensibly over, with the surrender to be televised live before dinner, everything was in a general uproar. The representatives of the Alliance had been in meetings all afternoon discussing the repercussions of events, and the success of their support of Western Drachma, and the Eastern Resistance, though the latter had been entirely supportive, unless they chose to count Ted Elric's involvement as official. Tore really doubted that.

The Assembly was having a regular session, though Tore was certain they had requested that the President of the Military speak with them about the situation as soon as possible. Tore knew for certain Franz had sent one of the other Generals—one only peripherally involved, but well briefed—in his stead. He wondered how the Assembly felt about that. Normally Franz was a cooperative President in the politics game and in working with the civilian branch of the government. This was the first time Tore could think of that he had purposefully turned down a request to appear in front of the Assembly in person.

Given what was going on in Drachma, Tore could imagine several reasons why besides just being _too busy_. Those fires had been started by dropping bombs, and that meant planes, and Tore only knew of one fleet of aircraft—currently all out on supposed practice maneuvers—with the ability to do so. The mission his oldest son was currently on.

It took all the patience he had not to demand an explanation and update from Franz, or Sara, whom he was certain knew everything Franz did in this particular instance. Tore had not been requested for the meeting with the representatives of the Alliance, so he did not know how much _they_ were being told. Only fools wouldn't believe that those planes had been Amestrian, particularly once it was clear they couldn't have been stolen from Savahin or built in time in Western Drachma.

So how the heck were they planning to spin this? Amestris playing hero? To many it would look more like Amestris meddling. Did any of the other allies already know? Did Mihalov or Marskaya know? In the news, while Gavril's message was going out about the upcoming surrender, not a word had been spoken on the issue of the planes from their side, despite rampant speculation not only in the Drachman news, but breaking in the Amestrian news as well. _Everyone_ wanted to know first, if the rumors of bombs falling from planes were true, and if so, how many had been involved in the authorization and implementation of the plan.

Where were those planes now, was the question Tore most wanted an immediate answer to. As soon as he knew Franz would be heading back to his office, Tore left his own, pacing himself to arrive just _before_ the President, with enough time to duck into the main office and lay in wait. He knew Franz would be planning to watch the televised surrender of the remains of the Zinovek party leadership.

His guess that Franz would plan to watch it in a semi-private setting proved to be correct, when Franz entered the outer office with only Sara. Both of them came up sharply when they saw him.

"Closson. Did you need something?" Franz asked formally.

In deference to the handful of very busy officers working away, Tore nodded. "It's a brief matter, Sir. Can we discuss it in your office?"

"Of course."

Tore stepped out of the way and then followed Franz and Sara into the office, closing the door firmly behind the three of them. When he turned around, they were facing him with knowing, but cautious, expressions. "You know you can't keep everyone guessing forever, right?" he started right in. "They're already figuring it out, and not just the military, the public. They're not stupid."

It was Sara who shrugged first. "Why do you think we were expecting to keep anything secret after it happened?"

Tore paused. "When are you going to tell them? _What_ are you going to tell them—to tell _us?_ " He included himself. "This is the exact opposite of _Amestris will pull out and let the Drachman leaders demonstrate they have the power to lead on their own._ "

"Do you actually know what happened last night?" Sara asked, one eyebrow arching into her hair.

Of course, they weren't going to admit to anything they didn't have to. Tore wanted to be angrier with them, but he had to keep that to professional anger, because the feeling of familial betrayal had no place here. There was nothing about this that had to do with the fact that they were family. "All of the Amestrian aircraft ready to fly left on a training mission of unspecified length and destination. None of them were allowed to tell their families any details beyond that, not even those who outrank them." The last was pointed. Dare hadn't told _him_ anything despite the fact Tore was involved in much of the plans and development. Apparently, there was a whole level of planning to which he had not been party. "Last night _seven_ targets were hit within a very small window of opportunity, six of them scattered throughout a major metropolitan area, all of them now reported to be in some way related to Savahin or his associates, thanks to current reports out of Petrayevka. That, and the second Zinovek airfield, which was hit several times, sent up in flames, and is now rumored to have attempted to fight off an attack _from the air._ The only reason they can't confirm that these are air strikes from planes specifically is they haven't managed to locate any wreckage. That said they are reporting that they hit _something_ , which means eventually they probably will find the wreckage, and identify a plane that is not Drachman. Marskaya and Mihalov have both been suspiciously silent on the issue, even though it would be easiest to either claim credit for the attacks, or deny any involvement. They have chosen to do neither as of yet, which means they want to keep people wondering. Which means there's a reason for that, too."

During his entire litany the two of them sat in silence, not interrupting, with irritatingly neutral expressions. Finally, Sara gave a very small nod. Tore wished he knew if that was assent, admission of guilt, or merely acknowledgement that he had spoken. "So what, specifically, do you want to know, Tore?"

He stared them both in the face, one, then the other. "Have you heard from my son, and is he okay?"

Perhaps they were expecting a more political motive, because both of them looked startled. Franz's expression became apologetic. "The truth is, we don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? It's been hours. They could have flown back to Amestris by now."

"The truth is, we have limited communication and intelligence with them at present, given the circumstances and details of the mission," Franz went on. "We've only heard confirmation of return to temporary base locations from those with access to phone lines, or those who are out of radio range of Petrayevka or any major Drachman city."

"What _do_ you know?"

"All six planes who hit individual targets last night have reported in safely," Sara continued the discussion. "Two of the four planes that hit the Airfield went down in an air battle with Drachman planes who made it into the air. The Drachman planes were destroyed. The Amestrian plane who checked in said it had sent the plane Dare was piloting out of the fight mid-combat due to engine damage. It was still in the air at the time. The plane, hasn't made radio contact with anyone since last night."

Tore's stomach twisted. "How far was the flight to their rendezvous point?"

"Several hours," Sara admitted. "It's possible they chose to land, or had to land, on the way back if they had damage. All of the planes were carrying back-up fuel, but even refueling would take time. But if they can't get a radio signal through there's no way to know what state they're in or their exact location. There's a lot of wilderness up there."

Missing, but no idea if they were crashed in the wilderness, or dead, or taking a needed rest. Tore would not jump to conclusions without evidence in either direction. "I see. What time are the rest of them due back?"

"Not for a couple of days." Sara was not more specific. "Their return is also specifically coordinated and must meet certain conditions. We actually don't have a more specific time, but their support plane is still waiting for them."

It was a small comfort. At least there was a chance, and he would wait, though Tore wasn't sure what he was going to say to Charisa when he got home. Keeping this quiet until he knew something concrete was going to be difficult. "I don't envy you the mess that's coming. This is by far the riskiest thing you've ever pulled."

"It does have a bit of Flame flare to it doesn't it?" Franz startled him by smiling. "Sometimes you just need to do things a little old-school."

Given how the Flame Alchemist had often done things, that was an incredibly risky choice. The payoffs had been worth it then, Tore just hoped they would be now as well. "I expect word the moment you hear anything about Dare."

"That, we can promise you." Sara nodded. "Please don't ask anything else. The less you know, the safer this is for you, and Charisa, and Dare."

Somehow the statement made him feel a bit more secure in not knowing. Maybe it was still a little bit about family after all.

* * *

Gloria would have preferred to be there in person, or watching from the hospital so she could be with her father, but sometimes life demanded personal sacrifice, and really it was a selfish preference, not a necessity, that she be in either of those places to watch the triumph of a new Drachma as the Zinoveks surrendered formally, and publicly, to Gavril Mihalov. General Marskaya would not be present, as he was coming from a longer distance and—for security purposes—they were not putting both of their leaders within range of one weapon. Not just yet.

So, Gloria and Alexei were back in the television studio, again, being used for ratings by offering their thoughts and knowledge on events unfolding, as the only Amestrian journalists who had reported directly on most of the war. They were currently a very hot commodity, and while she appreciated what all of this had done for their credibility and careers as journalists, her personal feelings on this issue made it tough to watch surrounded by people with no immediate personal connection to the events unfolding on the screen in front of them.

The meeting point was where two highways intersected, not far outside the city, but far enough away from both armies and the walls that no one was going to be able to use long-range weapons. Gloria noticed four people following Mihalov as he walked forward, with Niki Marskaya beside him; each in military uniform but marked with an arm band—subtle, light-gray-on-black—marked with the crest of Flamel. Those would be the new Drachman Alchemists. While no one appeared to be armed, she knew that he had come with protection.

"Those are alchemists," she said aloud to the room, knowing that no one besides she and Alexei would be likely to notice they weren't just regular guards. "They've been training them, and they were fighting up until this morning." They would be effective defensively, since they wouldn't have to strike out in order to protect him. At least, Gloria would have been shocked if they hadn't been taught alchemy that would be useful in this kind of situation, even if it was still pretty basic.

The men waiting at the crossroads looked nervous and worn, though their suits were clean and unwrinkled. "None of them are military," she noticed. That explained another reason why they might have called off Savahin's failing defense. If none of them had tactical experience personally, they might not have had confidence that they would be able to turn it around. She wondered how many ranking Drachman generals still lived. Many had been killed to make room at the top for Zinoveks.

The two groups stepped forward to meet each other, and the official words of surrender were simple and quick.

"We, the representatives and remaining heads of the Zinovek regime, do here surrender without reservation to the authority and judgement of Gavril Mihalov and his represented peoples. The Zinovek party is herewith dissolved, and we renounce all claims to government control," Alexei translated with only a very minor delay as they spoke. "Any men previously under our command who act out against you, or any other Drachman, in violence act against the good of the State and against our wishes."

Then Milahov spoke. "On behalf of the people of all lands under what was until recently a whole Drachma, I accept your surrender. Let us all work together, moving forward, to restore peace and prosperity. Let there be no more bloodshed. This horrible tragedy is over. We will rebuild." He looked up, more directly at the television camera. "Today will be remembered for years to come. Let tonight and tomorrow be days of rest, of peace, of reconnecting with our neighbors and families. Representatives from the civil government still living, should they wish, should please return to Petrayevka, so that we have somewhere to start as a semblance for rebuilding Drachma. Communities whose representatives had been lost, please appoint someone to send to speak for you. We will reconvene meetings in two days' time to take stock of the situation and begin to put the pieces back together. Within the week, we will begin discussions of what the government should look like going forward, and in what manner new states may continue to work with each other."

It was a brief speech, stirring, and simple, but outlining a forward plan. Gloria appreciated that. There was nothing grand about it, or powerful; no bragging, no impression of authority beyond his natural charisma and experience in leadership. This was still the man she had met in Karmatsk, but more comfortable stepping into this role, for however long he had it.

"One thing that must be addressed," Mihalov continued, "Is that neither Western Drachma, nor the Eastern Resistance, are responsible for last night's attacks on the city, or on the air field to the north. We did not order these attacks, nor do we have the technology to coordinate such a thing. Genn Savahin had many enemies. Clearly, at least one of them felt he needed to be removed. Those of you who stood against us need not fear retribution from us."

A few more words were exchanged, and the thing was done. The Drachman newscaster commentators starting speaking again, making note of particular faces in the crowd, including several released prisoners who had been brought to prove they were no longer locked up. Alexei repeated those parts as well, though people listened with less rapt attention than they had for the speech.

Gloria didn't need him to translate. She had understood every word.

A tap on her shoulder drew her attention away from the screen. It was Vivien Moser. "Let's go over a few high points before our commentary segment. I'd like your insights, and Alexei's of course, before we decide where best to focus the discussion. We have ten minutes to air."

"Of course." Gloria tapped Alexei and he cut off in his translation for the folks still listening. "Time to earn our pay."

"I think I'd make more as a translator," Alexei admitted with a soft chuckle before standing. They both followed Vivien back to the anchor's desk. How they explained and interpreted events in the coming minutes—particularly the comments about the air attacks—was of critical importance

At least Gloria now was certain of why it had been so important that they pull out before the attacks happened. Sara had _known_ something was coming, and the few known Amestrians to be in the country needed to be far away and home, and placed definitively elsewhere before it happened.

She wasn't entirely certain how she felt about that yet, other than having a deeper understanding of her insistence. The attack ran counter to what she knew of the alliance, but was the kind of strategic move that had great payoff if it succeeded; certainly, worth the potential risk unless it blew up in Amestris' face instead. In this case, Savahin was dead, and it had done what it was probably meant to, convinced the Zinoveks that it was time to give up.

Mihalov had said he did not order the attacks, but Gloria would bet her most expensive jewelry he had known, and the General had known, that it—or at least something—was in the works.

Though _that_ was a possibility she would never say on the air. Depending on what else was said in the next few days, it might be a realization she took to the grave; decades from now, if she was careful.

* * *

Ted was not prepared for the passionate kiss that interrupted the news; not that he was in any way complaining as he returned Anika's ardor, even if it was a little difficult over the sleeping infant cradled in her arms, who was held between them.

Anika's smile when their lips parted was pure victory. "We did it."

Ted grinned, squeezing her shoulders with the arm that lay along the back of the couch behind her. "Well, technically your Dad, Mihalov, and a few thousand Drachman soldiers finished it, but yeah, we did." Months of rough living and fighting he would never forget, and never regret. "Your family can stop living under ground now and go rebuild."

"Well, my brothers can. My father is going to be awfully busy help put Drachma back together." Her voice warmed with pride. "Once they put new leaders in place, if he doesn't get voted in to some other position, I suspect he'll try and get himself put in charge of the military."

"With him in charge, Drachma would be in good hands," Ted agreed. The General would be able to put things back together, get them in order, and was very unlikely to agree to any military conflict with any neighboring countries. "Though technically, aren't there three Drachmas now?"

Anika's brow furrowed. "There are, if Western Drachma chooses to remain a separate State rather than a Province under the renewed government. This is the opportunity for more freedom for local direct government many areas of Drachma have needed for a long time."

"Your Dad may not get to run the military if they make him stay the head of a new Eastern Drachma, or whatever they could rename it. The various areas of Drachma had other names before Drachma claimed them in the past didn't they?" He knew the various smaller countries Amestris had swallowed had been. He'd had to memorize each of them in school.

"That's also true. I wish I knew what was going to happen now," Anika sighed and settled back, readjusting Nikolai in her arms. "I wish I was there to help do it," she admitted.

"We both do," Ted acknowledged, and felt better for her relieved smile. "Someday, we'll be able to go back, even if it's for visits." It was going to be a long while before he was allowed across that border again, he was certain. There had been enough dissent and ugly talk about him going on the last mission after having been basically confined to Central. He'd heard more of it once he started listening, or asking people he knew he could trust.

He did not ask what would happen if or when the government ever got around to trying to reopen the zoo in Petrayevka. That was low on the priority list, and years away. They had agreed that, for now, this was the best place for them to be.

"I know. I'm just impatient. I want to see my brothers, and my father, and introduce them to Nikolai, and see how much of the zoo is left. I hate to think how much of the supplies in the facilities were also confiscated, or sold off for profit." She paused. "I want to find out if any of the other animals can be recovered, and if any of our colleagues are still alive."

"Well we can probably find out that last part," Ted pointed out. "It'll take time, but if we ask your family, I'm sure your father will make sure someone hunts down that information. If he hasn't already ordered it." Given how much the General valued and loved his children, Ted wouldn't be at all surprised to find out that an investigation was already under way. If he didn't do it, Mihalov certainly would, since he had been there for the initial rescue mission.

Ted wished he knew how tightly the border was going to remain closed. He imagined they would open it now, if mostly to allow the few Drachman refugees that had been allowed to come through to go home, or to cross back through when they had been funneled off to Creta and Aerugo. That might not go both ways. It would depend on the agreements made with whatever new government Mihalov set up. Ted doubted it would be too favorable to start. The man had to make sure that Drachman investments were being clearly protected, or the people wouldn't trust in any new government they put together. That had been a major point of contention in the past. Ted also doubted that Drachma had become any more popular on most Amestrians' 'favorite bordering nations" list. The current alliance including Western Drachma at all was getting strongly mixed feelings among the Amestrian civilian population. Not that Ted expected that to affect military policy. The public of Amestris had no direct say in the appointment of the President of the Military, or the choices he made on behalf of the country. Though Ted was certain the Assembly had only begrudgingly agreed to the alliance when it was just the rest of adjoining continental nations because they were already mostly allies. Bringing Kartos into the fold would be good for trade, but made very little change otherwise.

"He probably has," Anika interrupted his thoughts with her response. "Though I imagine it cannot be high on the priority list with everything else that needs to happen. It's all going to be so complicated, on _all_ sides. Now that my father is all over the news again, I expect the military and the news will want to talk to me, or at least pay us far more attention than I really wanted here."

"Most people won't know you're a Marskaya unless you tell them," Ted pointed out. "Just use Elric in public. There are enough of us running around now probably no one will think twice."

"Except all the ones who have already seen me," Anika pointed out. "It won't be that simple."

"We could always buy that farm we were pretending to have," Ted teased, hoping to lighten the mood, "move out to the middle of nowhere, raise some chickens, and a dozen kids."

"I will castrate you myself before we have a dozen kids," Anika retorted, and while her tone was playful the look in her eyes made it clear she would definitely do it.

Ted smiled disarmingly. "Hey, I was kidding. I'm in no hurry, I promise. My brothers have more than enough, I have no interest in competing. We can take that decision one at a time. Besides, this little guy is already an armful." Ted caressed the sleeping baby's cheek gently with one finger.

"Two arms." Anika looked down at him, "For now. He just keeps growing."

"That's what they're supposed to do."

"Yes, but I'm trying to enjoy his being little while it lasts, before he starts being old enough to sass his parents, or disobey orders and run off across international borders, panicking his mother."

"As long as he waits until adulthood."

Anika elbowed him in the ribs. "Let's just hope he's less impulsive than you."

"I thought you liked my impulsiveness?"

"It's a complicated feeling."

* * *

The sun set early, even earlier than they were used to this far north, Dare thought as he rubbed his eyes, stared at the clock, and tried to convince himself it wasn't as late as the time felt. He had slept longer than intended, but still managed to swap off guard duty more than once. They had eaten another round of ration bars for an evening meal, and Gray continued work on the engine until it got dark.

"How much more work does it need?" He asked Gray while they ate.

"Any chance we can be on our way tonight?" Fitzgibbons asked hopefully.

Gray shook her head. "Not tonight. I don't dare work on it in full darkness, and it's too cold. I need to finish some welding, maybe an hour's worth of work, and we should be back in the air. So, I'll get up first thing in the morning and finish it."

She was right of course; not only was the frigid northern winter with its deep snow and cutting wind too dangerous to be out in at night, Dare had spotted signs of wildlife that made it safest to stay near or in the plane… he and Fitzgibbon had found both bear and wolf tracks that weren't more than a day old, given they hadn't yet been filled with new snow. They had taken to carrying rifles for their secure rounds after that, but hadn't seen any sign of animals. "We're safe in the plane," Dare agreed. Though it was getting colder in there, too, without the engines running. They had emergency blankets, but what he wouldn't have given for a heater, or an alchemist who knew how to warm the air. Having his Dad along would have been great. At least with the electricity on and the doors closed the plane was solidly air-tight and the wind didn't come in anywhere.

"Still no luck reaching anyone by radio," Fitzgibbons commented as he sipped the coffee they had made with a small electric water heater that had been included in the emergency supplies. Dare wondered who had made those lists, and silently thanked whoever had the forethought to prepare for spending time on the ground in the winter. "I hope they're still there."

"They'll wait for us," Dare said with more confidence than he felt. Their orders were to wait, but how many days would that be? What if their orders changed? He just didn't want anyone giving them up for dead. There was too much countryside for them to come out and search themselves with any hope of finding _Hummingbird._

"They'd better," Gray griped. "I don't want to have to keep patching her together as we hop back to Amestris. We'll almost certainly be seen if we have to keep stopping for fuel, and anything they have will almost certainly eat up our fuel lines. She'll be a mess."

Dare let Gray gripe. They were all uneasy, sitting here in the dark wilderness, with no idea who else had survived, and if the attacks on the city had been successful. Was Savahin dead? Or had they failed and simply made him angrier? What retribution would he bring down? Had they actually taken out all the planes? If even one had survived, then Savahin's vengeance would certainly rain from above, and the stealth imperative of their mission would be irrevocably blown. It may already have been, for all they knew. "She's gotten us this far, and I know you're good enough to keep her together, whatever we have to do."

"What do we want to do with the rest of the evening?" Gray asked, looking mollified by his praise. "I don't suppose anyone brought anything to _do?_ "

Fitzgibbons grinned. "Well, I never go anywhere without a deck of cards."


End file.
